


and as the world comes to an end (i’ll be here to hold your hand)

by Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish



Series: Queen and Lionheart [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Final Fantasy XV, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A pile of bodies is a recurring joke, A ship I think I’m the only person who thought of, Battlefield Banter, Child Soldiers, Except like, Excessive use of italics, F/M, Female Friendship, Feminist Themes, Forehead Touching, Friends to Lovers, Gilgamesh: confirmed dad, Girl Power, Happy Ending, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I think I should finally tag this, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, In this house, In-depth sword analysis, Intense discussions and inner monologues on battle plans, I’m on a tiny little boat, Literal Sleeping Together, Loyalty, Magic, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Meaningful Eye Contact, No character bashing, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Northern Magic, Old Magic, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Sentient Castle, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Teens being teens, Tenderness, The Old Gods (ASoIaF), This story went from 0-100 in terms of magic, Trauma, Worldbuilding, a fuckton of ocs - Freeform, a lot of exposition, also I have no good idea on how they are interacting, and seeking comfort in each other, but it is obvious that some characters are not liked, but with a lot of trauma, come join, i have no idea where im going with this, we talk about our feelings like people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 196,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25499986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish/pseuds/Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish
Summary: Visits perceived as dreams start to occur between Sansa Stark and Cor Leonis when they are both at a time in their lives where they are confused and lost. With walls slowly crumbling, they begin a friendship that transcends worlds, allowing them to lean on one another for support. But, when Cor has to make the decision of choosing between monarchs, their lives shift once more.Edit: 28/10/2020 so im planning on editing the grammar at some point because it wasnt until it was pointed out that my tenses was all over the place. So quite a few of the chapters are like that but after a while i do finally settle into one tense. New writer and all, im learning as i go.
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Cor Leonis
Series: Queen and Lionheart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967530
Comments: 369
Kudos: 137
Collections: Works That Will Not Leave You Alone





	1. A Dream (A Ghost)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay look, this is the first of many Sansa/Cor idea I have, and this isn’t even the first one that cropped up but like, the third. I should be updating Every Stumble, but instead im procrastinating and suffering writer’s block on that story, so here have this. 
> 
> I have no idea why they are communicating, my brain hasn’t come up with a reason why yet, so come up with whatever reason in your mind and go with it. 
> 
> I’m of the firm Idea™️ That no one in Westeros deserves Sansa (except maybe Margaery) so I scoured all the fandoms I’m in and found Cor Fucking Leonis. And boom! SanCor was born. They are traumatised teens, and I’m declaring that just because you are a teen shoved into a shitty position of authority, that doesn’t make them any less a child. So I’m allowing them to be kids. 
> 
> Disclaimer: neither asoiaf, got, or ffxv belong to me  
> Enjoy!

For Sansa, it starts off as dreams. The first one was during the third night on the ship from King’s Landing to the Eyrie. Within her small cabin, curled under blankets, the girl falls into an unsettled sleep due to her new environment and the uneasy knowledge of Lord Baelish being nearby.

In her dream she is under the burning, bright heat of the sun. Squinting, Sansa looks around her, seeing nothing but sand and dirt for miles. A wasteland, with only few dry plants struggling to live in the unforgiving temperature. The heat shimmers in the distance, and already Sansa can feel herself beginning to sweat. It’s not like the muggy heat in King’s Landing, where the stench fogs the air around her. It’s like the heat from a bonfire coming at all sides, dry and scorching.

Confused, she begins to walk, looking for any sign of life. The dirt and sand crunch under each step of her slippered feet. Her dress is suffocating in the heat, and she wishes she could strip down, as she wanders in a random direction. Sansa doesn’t know how long she walks for, but soon enough a rocky outcrop begins to form in the distance, and she hurries her pace, desperate for shade.

Upon reaching the large collection of boulders, she notices a form tucked in the shade the rocks provide. Stopping a few feet away, Sansa deliberates whether or not to approach, hands wringing uncertainly. The form looks to be of a male, legs curled to his chest, head in his knees. There is an air of anguish and inconsolable grief around him.

Not wanting to startle him, she lets out an uncertain noise, wordless, but it catches his attention. Head jerking up, she is paralysed by the predatory gaze he holds, as if ready to fight an enemy. But upon seeing that it’s just her, a girl, he relaxes. But only a little, shoulders becoming less tight. They stare at one another, assessing each other.

Sansa is unable to see well in the shadows, but it looks as if he has dark, cropped hair, she observes. Hands sweaty from the heat and the nerves, she discreetly wipes her palms on her skirt, and walks over the shade.

Standing in front of the boy, she remembers her manners. “May I share your shade?”

Eyeing her uncertainly, the boy hesitantly nods. With a short, bobbed curtsey, Sansa takes a seat a few feet from him. Knees coming up to her chest like him, they sit in silence.

‘ _I wonder why I’m here?_ ’ Sansa ponders. ‘ _I remember being on the ship, and going to sleep. So, is this a dream?_ ’

From the corner of her eye, she begins to observe the boy, but freezes at the sight of him doing the same to her. For a tense second, their eyes meet, before he clears his throat and looks away. Awkwardly, he begins to speak.

“Where you heading?” His voice is rough from lack of water, but a soft tone. Different from the more higher pitch of Joffrey’s or the unnerving, whispering words of Lord Baelish. Thinking on his question, she slowly answers.

“I’m not too sure.”

A dark eyebrow raising, he questions, “Are you lost then?”

Head shaking, she tells him honestly. “I don’t _think_ so. I remember going to sleep, and then I was standing in the desert not too far from here.”

Both eyebrows are raised in disbelief. “That makes _no_ sense.” It’s as if he is accusing her of lying. Affronted, Sansa fully turns her head to face him as she exclaims,

“ _It’s the truth!_ ”

“Are you _sure_ the heat hasn’t gotten to you?”

Now she is angry. Even though he granted her the allowanceshare his space when he could’ve said no, he has no right to be so rude. “Are you saying I’m going _mad!?_ ”

Baffled, he yelps back. “What? _No_!” At her irritated look of scepticism, he pouts in frustration and mutters, “ _Maybe_.”

With a sniff of derision, she haughty challenges, “Well, _you_ are in the middle of the desert _too_. _I_ bet you’re just as lost.”

Outraged, he moves from his curled position and turns to face her completely. At the change of form, Sansa notices a long, stick-like form behind his body. But his angry words distract her from getting a better look. “Am _not_!”

She’s turned to face him fully as well, tense and ready to run if he strikes. They are in each other’s faces, angry and frustrated. “ _Then why are you here!?_ ”

At her exclaimed question, he falters and looks down. Noticing how close they’ve gotten, he leans back. All the fury he was showing dissipates, and that sad, mournful boy is back. 

“I-“ He starts to answer, before his face screws up in annoyance. Pointing his finger at her, he instead declares, “It’s none of your business!”

“Then you have _no right_ to accuse me of going mad.”

Their aggravation burns the air around them, hot like the sun beating down on the sand. With a huff of annoyance, he returns back to his previous position, ending the conversation with finality. Sansa is left observing him, unsure of what to say now, her anger simmering down.

If her Septa could see her now, she would rap her knuckles with how unladylike Sansa is behaving at the moment.

‘ _But she isn’t here anymore._ ’ It’s a sad thought, one she is used to thinking about those Sansa has lost.

“I’m sorry.” She murmurs, ashamed at her behaviour, “It was rude of me to raise my voice.”

Shaking his head, he disagrees. “I shouldn’t’ve said you were insane.”

Unable to help herself, her lips quirk up faintly. “No, you should not have.”

It’s baffling for her how emotional she has been reacting. She assumed that after King’s Landing, she has better control over them. Maybe because it’s a dream that Sansa is more free with them, permitting herself to react the way she wished instead of lies.

The boy’s rough voice cuts through her musings, “I’ve been discharged.”

Startled, Sansa’s eyes snap back up, and sees his posture. The way he curls inwards, as if to hide his shame or protect himself from scorn. It’s almost familiar. Still his words confuse her.

“Discharged?” Cocking her head to the side, Sansa wonders. ‘ _Does that mean he was in an army?_ ’ Looking up and down, he looks no older than her, 16 if she is being generous. ‘ _Was he a squire?_ ’

Ignorant to her thoughts, he continues, stuttering over his explanation.

“I-I work for- I work _ed_ \- for the king. Regis, he discharged me for-” He bites back the rest of his words, as if he is having to physically restrain himself from saying more.

However, she can’t help the tension and fear that run through her at his words. ‘ _He works for the king_!’ But the name, Regis, isn’t one she is familiar with. Calming down a little, heart fluttering in her chest ‘ _What a strange dream_.’ She thinks, bewildered at her own imagination.

Licking her cracked lips- strangely realistic for a dream, Sansa hesitates, then prods from more information. “Are you a soldier then?”

Finally, he turns his gaze back to her’s, and this close, she can tell the colour. A hazy blue, almost grey. Like a mixture of Stark and Tully, and for a brief moment, she can’t breathe. They are filled with such deep sorrow, that she has to force back her own tears, wanting to cry in empathy. For she feels that he can see her own sorrow held in her own bright blue eyes.

In the pause between his words and the next, he had managed to collect himself from the open vulnerability he had shown her. “I _was_.”

Looking down at her hands, wringing them, a nervous habit since she was young, Sansa decides to meet his honesty with her own. Staring ahead at the bright sand, she whispers, “I’m escaping.”

A sharp movement from the corner of her eye has her tensing, quickly turning to see what he is doing. Holding herself stiffly, ready to run, she lets out a faint exhale of relief. He had just turned his head. Brows furrowed, stern and wary, he asks, though it sounds a little like a command. “From what?”

Swallowing, hesitant, she lowers her eyes. “People who wished to use me for their own gain.”

“Thats...good then, right?”

There is a pause after his question. It’s as if he senses it’s much more complicated than that. Looking up into his grey-blue eyes, she lets her true emotions fill her whisper. “ _I fear that the man who saved me will do the same._ ”

The rest of the dream is spent in a solemn silence, Sansa not willing to break it with how much he seems unsettled by their conversation. She was more than willing to enjoy the peace. Away from the reality she lives, away from Lord Baelish’s unnerving gazes, and away from King’s Landing and the Lannisters.

The boy seems to be content sitting in their shared shade and silence, soaking in his sorrow and grief. Who is she to interrupt someone’s grieving, when she herself wasn’t allowed. Surrounded by enemies, Sansa wouldn’t show any weakness. Only in the dead of night, curled in her bed, did she grant herself the chance to cry for her lost family.

Tilting her head back against the cool rock behind her, Sansa closed her eyes.

When she opened them, she was in her room on the ship, wooden walls creaking around her. The sound of waves crashing against them. The chilled room was a vast difference from the unbearable heat of the dream-desert.

With a faint groan, she pulled herself out of the bed, feet touching the cold, rough, wooden floor below, and frowned. Wiggling her toes, the scratchy and cutting sensation had her peering down at them. Unable to see well in the dim light, she dug her fingers between her toes, and stared bewildered at her fingers. There, was the unmistakable look and feel, of _sand_.

For Cor, it starts off as a hallucination. Or at least, he _thinks_ it’s a hallucination, the heat is definitely getting to him. He is about a days away from Hammerhead, having passed through to talk to Cid. The older man’s reaction about Regis discharging him was best left unsaid. ‘Discarded’ was how Cid had phrased it along with a few other choice words.

He didn’t stay long, not wanting to over stay his welcome was the excuse he used. Really it was because he didn’t want to stay with someone who was in all the memories he had of Regis and his retinue. It hurt to constantly be reminded of them, so he said his goodbyes and carried on to his destination.

Cleigne. Or more specifically, The Tempering Grounds.

He figured if he could battle Gilgamesh, and win, Regis would take him back, having proven himself. Fighting was all he knew, where he excelled at the most. This was his last hope of redemption. And if he died.

_Well_.

Then he died.

Having left in the earlier morning from Hammerhead, to get as far as he can before the heat set in, he didn’t take any means of transportation. So walking it is. The next afternoon had him regretting not asking for a car or motorcycle, what with the heat being unbearable against his black attire. When he found a large boulder offering up shade, Cor could’ve wept in relief.

Hurrying over, he had immediately took a small swig from his canteen to hydrate himself, but not too much not wanting to waste his resources, and leant back against the cool stone for a rest. He figured it would be best to rest for the rest of the day, and continue his trek in the dark, willing to risk the daemons than the heat. 

Now that he has the time to rest, all the emotions and thoughts start to creep to the forefront of his brain. Pursing his lips to stop them wobbling, he allows himself to curl up and wallow in his misery. He remembers his father telling him that ‘ _boys don’t cry_ ’ when he was three, and that seems to have stuck. When faced with allies on the battlefield dying he doesn’t cry. When he sees the casualties of war in innocent civilians, he doesn’t weep. When he was given the news he was discharged from his services, he reacted with anger and disbelief.

Now, alone, with no one to judge, he can’t even give himself this allowance of crying. The emotional part of his brain demands release, the rational side argues a waste of water wouldn’t be helpful in this environment.

So he is stuck with forcing back tears, and curing deeper into his body.

In the midst of him wallowing in self-pity, a soft noise startles him out of his thoughts, causing him to reach for his sword, ready to fight.

Instead of an enemy, it was a girl. Red hair, tall, dressed impractically for the terrain and the heat, and no noticeable weapons. Though with the long dress, she could be hiding knives. Her entire demeanour was nervous, with her wringing hands, and unsure facial expression. The girl was definitely pretty, a highborn look to her.

When she spoke it was soft, polite. “May I share your shade?” Strange way of wording it, but he nodded. He wasn’t that much of a dick to let someone have heat stroke out in this weather. With a curtsey, which he couldn’t help feeling amused about, she hurried over to his side, and took a seat primly.

Cor continues to observe her, taking in the strange, old-fashioned dress. She seems to have the same idea because they catch each other’s eye, and there is a tired, sad look to them. He looks away awkwardly, finding that observation to be too close for comfort. Instead he clears his throat nervously and asks, dry throat cracking, “Where you heading?”

The ensuing argument was not one of his best moments, but in his defence, she _does_ sound insane.

‘ _Maybe she is a ghost, and died on a boat. Or was kidnapped and killed. Body dumped in this wasteland._ ’ Cor muses morbidly. Still his thoughts are stuck on her question. There shouldn’t be any harm answering the ghosts question, still it’s painful to reply.

Her truth has him worried though. When he turned sharply to look at her, a little confused by her admittance at running away, he spotted the way she flinched from his sudden movement. He froze a split second after she did, and watched as fear flooded her bright blue eyes, like prey in the face of danger. Keeping movements slow, he eased his ridged posture and tried for a causal,

“From what?”

And internally winces at his tone sounding more demanding than it actually was. He wonders at who is trying to use her. Maybe she had information that was needed and they tortured her for it before killing her? Maybe she was held for ransom. Either way, it’s probably a sad story, so instead of digging for more, he offers an awkward response. He isn’t exactly the best at comforting people.

But her next words chill him to the bone.

He is left in tense contemplation, wondering at her past. If she is a spirit or ghost, and doesn’t know she is dead should he tell her? Instead of leaving her in this frozen, fearful state. Maybe she wasn’t murdered, maybe there was a ship wreck and she died. Though how her body got here, in the middle of a desert, will confuse him to no end.

It’s as he is staring out into the sandy plains, that he notices her fading away at the corner of his eye. Turning in shock, she is leaning back against the rock as her body dissipates like smoke, and he is left alone again. Blinking a couple times, feeling disorientated at having just watched what looked like a solid person just fucking evaporate. “ _Am I high?_ ” He mutters out loud.

With a groan, he rubs his eyes and tries to centre his mind. ‘ _Okay. If she is a ghost she probably does that a lot_.’ His inner voice doesn’t sound as rational as he would hope.

He’s fought daemons and seen Regis summon gods in battle, ‘ _Ghosts isn’t that weird!_ ” Cor thinks with slight hysteria. With another groan he flops onto his side, deciding sleep would be for the best, and strangely enough, the ghost girl shook him out of his grief a little with her strange story. Closing his eyes, he sends a little pray to the astrals, asking for them to guide her spirit to the after life. He doesn’t normally do prayers to the gods, but he thinks the girl deserves some peace.

He sure as hell isn’t going to get any.


	2. A visit (A haunting)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second encounter in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is charmed and Cor is suffering

The next time they meet, Sansa is still on the ship. According the Lord Baelish, they are three days away from their destination, and Sansa is cautiously excited. She has never met her Aunt Lysa, only hearing stories from her mother, so she has no idea on how their first meeting will go. And according to Lord Baelish, him and her aunt are to marry.

In her quarter's she sits on her bed, unsure of this news. Lord Baelish has always made her cautious, and her skin crawls at times, uncomfortable under his gaze. Sansa isn’t too sure if she would like him as an uncle. Deciding sleep would be best to ease her spiralling thoughts, she changes into her shift, and tucks herself under the thick covers.

Since the dream of the boy in the desert, Sansa has been secretly hoping to see him again, finding a kinship with him. And maybe a small part found him handsome. With a tiny smile gracing her face, Sansa happily falls into the welcoming embrace of sleep to the rocking of the ship, having become a comfort.

The first thing she notes is that it’s night time, a cool breeze is a much better sensation than the scorching heat previously. The next is that she is standing on dewy grass, in a forest. The large trees tower above her, the thick cover of the pine tree branches almost block out the moonlight, small bits of bright white filtering through though. Looking around her, Sansa tries to find the boy from before, practically hopping from one foot to another in glee.

Despite their meeting getting off on the wrong foot, what with him calling her mad, she found his stern demeanour comforting, resembling the northern men she grew up knowing. Even his looks are almost northern, though his skin is tan, a little more lighter than the dark colouring of a lot of her countrymen.

Trudging through the forest in search, she takes the time to enjoy the environment, smelling the earthy scents of nature, and sweet fragrance from different wild flowers. Hands and fingers lightly caressing leaves and bark as she passes by, she can feel herself relaxing. But the wandering becomes disconcerting as she struggles to find him. With a frustrated huff, she opens her mouth but falters.

‘ _I never got his name._ ’ Flushing in annoyance and embarrassment, Sansa instead calls out, “Boy? Are you there?”

No reply, fidgeting where she stands, Sansa continues to call out, voice becoming unsure. “Um, it’s the girl from the rock? You said I was mad.”

She really didn’t want to add that last part, but if it helped him recognise then so be it.

There was rustling above her, and Sansa jerked her head up and found a figure in the trees. Sitting on a thick branch, leaning up against the trunk was him. She can’t help the grin that spreads across her face.

“ _I found you!_ ” She crows in success and pleasure. But the angry hiss he directed at her had her jerking her head back, indignant at being shushed. Frowning she rears up to argue but he cuts her off before she can start.

“ _You idiot be quiet!_ ” Looking around wildly, as if searching for someone, “The daemons will hear you. Hurry up and _climb_!”

Wide eye, she stares up at him. Sansa doesn’t quite know what to make of that information. Mouth gaping a little, she fumbles for words and comes up with, “I can’t climb.”

“ _Are you fucking serious?!_ ” Voice now incredulous and annoyed. Crossing her arms, she looks away, pouting a little.

“I’m a _lady_. _Ladies_ don’t climb trees.” She says matter-of-factly.

‘ _Arya did_.’ Her thoughts whisper, and Sansa clenches her fists in determination. Channeling her younger sister, she sucks in a deep breath, and grabs a branch and begins to pull herself up.

Or at least tries to. She can’t get a good grip and her feet scrabbles on the trunk. Through her struggles a ‘ _tsk_ ’ of frustration above her has Sansa blushing in humiliation, and is about to give up. But when a warm, calloused hand grabs her wrist, she feels herself being tugged up. With a soft yelp, her bare feet find a branch, and she manages to catch another with her hand.

With a little more help, Sansa finds herself in a tree, high above the ground and sitting on a branch a little higher than the boy. Hugging the trunk she sits sideways, facing him as he settles back into position. Her heart is hammering rapidly, never having been this high up unless it was a castle.

The branches creak with a gentle swaying from the wind that occurs up high, leaves rustling. Now closer, the soft pine smell is nostalgic, reminding her of the Wolfswoods in Winterfell, and Sansa greedily inhales is, desperate for familiarity.

Feeling eyes on her, Sansa meets the boy’s gaze. He looks annoyed and confused, brow furrowed, lips turned down in a frown. Silence, except for the sounds of nature around them, and Sansa breaks it by blurting out, “ _Sansa_!”

“What?” He blinks bewildered at her, annoyance slipping away so his expression is one of pure confusion. Flushing at herself for her loud proclamation, she shyly explains.

“My name. It’s Sansa.”

Confusion clearing away, he widens his eyes slightly, realisation hitting him. “Oh.” He breaths, Then clears his throat and offers out.“I’m Cor.”

‘ _Cor_.’ Sansa thinks. ‘ _That’s a strange name._ ’ Cautiously she eases her tight grip on the tree trunk and, with the closest hand on the trunk for balance, her other one settles on the branch under her. ‘ _Do boys like it when you compliment their name?_ ’

Sansa remembers telling Jon to always tell a girl her name is pretty when introduced, but she doesn’t think that advice would work here. Cor is after all a boy, and she doesn’t think they really care about that.

“That’s an... _interesting_ name.” She offers delicately, which has him snorting, faintly amused. Voice dry, he drawls out, “Thanks. It means ‘ _Heart_ ’.”

Blinking owlishly, she cocks her head to the side, “Heart?”

“Yeah. It’s the old Lucis language for it. My last name, Leonis means ‘ _Lion_ ’. So it’s heart lion, lion hearted. Basically means that I’m brave.” He has a small air of pride around him, obviously liking his name, but she can’t help the tension at ‘ _lion_ ’.

Fists clenching on the bark, she watches him, uneasy. Face coming into a frown again, he picks up on her discomfort. “What?”

Looking down at the space where her legs hang in the air, fingers picking at the bark, she murmurs, “Lions. The Lan- the people who held me captive. Their family sigil was a lion.”

“Ah.” He slumps slightly against the trunk, staring out into the space between the branches, where the forest continues on around them. With a huff of exasperation,“Well, do I look like them too?”

“ _No!_ ” Coming out as a strangled yelp, she takes in his features, far from the golden curls and cat-like green eyes, and begins to reassure him. Though it feels more like Sansa is trying to reassure herself, not wanting to find similarities between Cor and the Lannisters. “In fact, you look like the people from my land, the North. Brown hair, stern face. Quick to anger-“ She is cut off as she begins to tick off her finger the general features of a northerner.

“ _I’m not quick to anger!_ ” He says angrily. 

“ _Pff_.” She slaps a hand over her mouth, hiding her amusement. Eyebrow twitching, she can see a blush of embarrassment creeping up his ears. Pouting, he mutters a short, “Shut up.”

Sitting in a pause of silence, Cor breaks it with a question. “So. Are you...haunting me?”

“ _What?!_ ” She exclaims. Baffeled, Sansa waits for his explanation, face screwed up in confusion.

“So in the desert you appeared, and I assumed you died and your body was somewhere in the wastelands. But now you are here, miles away from the desert. So, is it me you are haunting?” He explains all this like it makes any sense to her, his hand cupping his chin in contemplative thinking. She doesn’t know how to react, just stares at him like he’s grow two heads.

Continuing to rub his chin in thought, unaware of her expression, he widens his eyes in realisation and snaps his fingers. Pointing them at her, he announces with triumph, “I must’ve accidentally killed you in a battle. Civilian caught in the crossfire.”

He’s smug for a second, then his expression crumples. “Oh shit. _I’m so sorry._ ” He looks up with true apologetic grief. That snaps out of her stunned confusion. Face twisting in annoyance, her hand comes out and smacks him over the head.

“ _Idiot_! I’m not a ghost! I’m alive.”

“ _Ah_ , but how do you know that?” He challenged, lightly rubbing at his head where she connected with her palm.

“Are you _listening_ to yourself!? How could you have _even managed_ to kill me when I’ve been on a ship for the past fortnight!” Sansa isn’t even angry with his theory of her being a ghost. She honestly finds it amusing, which might be showing by the way she bites her lip to smother her smile.

However, Cor doesn’t seem to see it, his face falling in disappointment at his story being wrong, but here is an underlining relief at not having killed her.

“Oh. I completely forgot you said you were on a boat.” Sheepishly scratching at the back of his neck, he gives an awkward smile. It’s small, crooked, boyish, and Sansa finds it _utterly_ charming. He looks like the kind of boy who doesn’t smile a lot, solemn and stern like northern men. 

She rolls her eyes, but allows the smile to show. Gazing at him with faint amusement, Sansa enjoys the moment. It almost feels like the bickering with her siblings when she was younger. Cor on the other hand is quiet, staring at his with curiosity, like she is a puzzle he is trying to solve.

“So, why exactly are you here, if you’re not haunting me.”

She shrugs, “For me it’s a dream. This time and the last time, I was in bed going to sleep.”

“Well, I’m real, so it can’t be a dream either.”

They frowned at one another, both confused by their circumstance, but a low rumbling noise and snapping branches shook them out of their thoughts. Tensing, they both look to the ground, and Sansa nearly gasps aloud if it wasn’t for the quick hand over her mouth. Turning terrified eyes back to Cor, he holds his free hand up to his mouth, finger against his lips.

Giving a jerking nod in understanding, he takes back the hand over her mouth, and trains his gaze back to the... _creature_ , below them.

It’s dark, but with the moonlight Sansa can make out the grotesque form, crawling on the ground under their feet. Large, sharp, and jagged limps slowly lift one after another in tandem. Sansa would think it was just an abnormally, horrifyingly, _large_ spider. But the naked torso of a woman on top of the spider body makes her think other wise. Pale blue skin, bright in the moonlight would be beautiful if she wasn’t petrified in fear. This must be the ‘ _daemons_ ’ Cor referred to. Their talking must have summoned the creature.

The creature stops at the trunk of their tree, and Sansa can’t take her eyes off of it in fear. Out of the corner of her eye, Cor silently shifts, and a bright spot of light catches her eye. Moving wide eyes away from the daemon she watches as Cor quietly unsheathes a long, thin sword. She has never seen a blade like that, and watches in scared awe as he deftly lowers himself down the tree.

Taking swift steps on branches, he stops on one just above the monster’s head, and jumps.

Unable to let out the audible gasp, Sansa can’t take her eyes away from Cor as he efficiently kills the beast. Fast, with slashes and stabs, he cuts down the front legs, causing the beast to fall forward, allowing him to cut off the head when it gets closer to him.

It’s over in a minute and Sansa was _completely mesmerised_ the entire time. She’s never seen even well trained knights move that fast, his forms like a dancer, but brutal and deadly. Breathless, the girl meets his gaze when he looks back up at her, deadly and fearless.

As Cor puts his sword back in it’s sheath, he mutters something to himself before climbing back up to her. With a huffed breath, he sits back on his previous branch and arches an eyebrow at her, as if asking Sansa ‘ _What?_ ’

An exhilarated giggle leaves her mouth, which she quickly smothers with both hands, eyes crinkling. When sure she has calmed down enough, her hands leave her face a little and she whisper-yells, “ _That was amazing!_ ” Before quickly covering up any further laughter.

The faces that he makes is something she will remember forever. It’s a shocked expression that turns to an embarrassed, pleased look, red covering his ears and dusting his cheeks. Arms crossing, he looks away, shy in the face of her admiration. Sansa can’t hold back the urge to kiss his cheek, a quick peck, to show her gratitude.

Now he is as bright as a red rose, staring at her gobsmacked. With a soft giggle she whispers, “You would make a _gallant_ knight, one fit for the songs.” Grin across her lips, she blinks once, and awakens back on the ship.

Grin still gracing her face, she giddily throws back the covers and happily recalls his expression. She hopes she can get him to make it again next time.

At first Cor tried to ignore her calling, even when he wanted to laugh at her saying that he called her mad, but his foot accidentally shifted, uncomfortable in the tree, and she looked up. Sucking in a deep breath, almost stunned by her appearance, he allows himself to look at her figure, appearing ghostly in a white gown and moonlight. But despite her beauty, her voice is going to summon daemons so he gets her up into the tree as quickly as he can, annoyed at the noise she made.

He finds her interesting, in the way she speaks, in her changing emotions. The way she readily shows fear for a split second before trying to hide behind a passive mask, as if it’s a practised motion. He wonders at her past, and what her captives have done to her to cause such terrified expressions at sharp movements and lions. That’s a weird one. Cor has never known some scared of the idea of lions.

But if her enemy had it as a sigil, it must bring instinctive fear, which he can’t blame her for. Pools of water make him tense up when he passes by, and he struggles to muster up the courage to get in them when needed. Baths are hell, which is why he sticks to short showers, as even them can cause his heart to race in panic.

A part of him burns low in his stomach, he would say angry, but it isn’t that strong. The injustice she is facing, he finds unfair. Cor doesn’t think she is a criminal or a killer, that fact she can’t climb a tree showing she has no true strength to take a person down. And with her saying she is a captive, he wants to know more.

Unfortunately, their ensuing conversation/argument summons a daemon, and he is unable to ask more questions. Having moved quickly to stop Sansa from exposing their hidden position, his hand lands on her mouth. He hopes this position doesn’t cause her to freak out, and lets her know to keep quiet.

At least she is smart enough to not ask questions and follow orders when in a dangerous situation.

The arachne was quick to deal with as he had an element of surprise coming from above. As the creature’s head falls off Cor catches a small glimpse at his tree companion and quickly looks away.

The way she sits elegantly, red hair glimmering in the moonlight, faintly blowing in the nighttime breeze, she resembles a nymph or fae. Doesn’t help that the white dress adds to the fairytale element. “ _Fuck me_.” He mutters lowly, exasperated with himself. ‘ _If she isn’t a ghost, she obviously isn’t from this world. She is going to disappear again so there’s no point in having a stupid crush just because she is beautiful._ ’

With a sharp nod in agreement with his internal monologue, he deftly climbs back up and situates himself back on his branch. Sansa looks at him in a stunned amazement, to which he replies with a raised eyebrow. Taking the daemon down wasn’t that big of a deal. He’s taken down squads of MT soldiers, the creature was nothing.

Her laugh was adorable, and that on top of her compliment has him sadly blushing like an idiot. Cor is proud of his skills, but her singular, directed amazement at his ability is satisfying. And embarrassing.

The kiss was a cherry on top and his face has gone full tomato, skin smoking hot. The place on his cheek where she kissed as the lingering touch of her lips even as she fades into smoke. With a groan his head lands into his open palms.

‘ _You would make a gallant knight._ ’

Her voice echoes in his mind and that night he gets absolutely no sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two teens, sitting in a tree, in the moonlight. How romantic. 
> 
> Listen, you can recognise someone is hot and then become friends, and thats where im going with this. Neither of them are ready for a relationship, and they have a lot of trust issues to work through. 
> 
> Cor will have a longer POV soon, i promise. And they will have a heart to heart at some point. I’m making Cor have a Tragic Backstory™️ because we know nothing about his childhood so im making some shit up.


	3. An Embrace (A Lesson)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a dangerous encounter, Sansa visits Cor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Description of assault and attempted rape, but not too detailed.

Sansa doesn’t see Cor for awhile. Lord Baelish and herself had arrived at the Eyrie with her disguise and cover set into place. It _chaffed_ against her lady-like manners to play a bastard, but in this case, Sansa had to put her trust into Lord Baelish. Hair dyed dark, donning on the name Alayne Stone like armour, she sinks into her role.

Aunt Lysa knew it was her though, Lord Baelish having told her the truth. A part of her was relieved that she didn’t have to completely hide herself away from the world. Especially with family, who should be _safe_. But meeting Aunt Lysa, something about was... _off_ about her. Unsettling even. There was a strain in her smile, a manic look in her blue eyes, similar to Joffrey. But, Sansa hid away her fears, tucked in the back of her mind, and pretended she didn’t notice.

Despite that, and her cousin being particularly bratty, it was nice to be in the Eyrie, away from King’s Landing. Sansa still had to lie, but there were no threats of violence, and she didn’t have to denounce her family, calling them traitors.

The wedding between Lord Baelish and Aunt Lysa was quick and not as fanciful as the wedding between Joffrey and Margaery, which she is thankful for. It was a small, pleasant affair, though Sansa didn’t partake in any of the dancing afterwards, feeling uncomfortable with the strangers around her. She politely declined dance invitations, feigning tiredness from the ceremony.

It’s been a week into her stay, almost three weeks since she last dreamt Cor, that she is accosted by Aunt Lysa’s singer, Marillion. Aunt Lysa and Lord Baelish have left for the bedding and Sansa is exhausted from the pleasantry, deciding to head back to her chambers. The stone hallways are dark, faintly lit by flaming torches on the walls when Sansa hears the approaching foot steps. She begins to take a casual glance behind her, when strong hands grip her upper arms, turning her fully to face the attacker.

Her heart is in her throat, fluttering hard, as she is pushed into the wall, going breathless at the force. The smell of bitter mead burns her nose, the man’s breath panting heavily, and a clumsy, but heavy hand begins to paw at her body. Opening her mouth, Sansa tries to cry for help but sweaty hands muffle her. All she can do is struggle against the man assaulting, hoping to break free.

Her breathing begins to become more panicked as the desperate hand meets her bare thigh, and she feels that she is back during the riots, back when maester pycelle would perform inspections on her body. Back when the Tyrion Lannister decided not to bed her, but only after his small, stubby hands touched her body first. She feels like her mind isn’t there anymore, an observer than a victim. Closing her eyes, willing for this to be over quickly, the weight is gone suddenly as it arrived.

The smothering, _suffocating_ feeling of unwanted touching disappears, and her eyes fly open.

It’s daylight. The blue sky sits above her, bright sun shining it’s rays down upon her as Sansa realises she is laying in a grassy field. The tall blades sway around her, wild flowers growing in abundance, their sweet smell filling the air. The grass is coarse against her fingers as she runs her trembling hands through it. Her body feels weak, shaking off the terror from her attack as she begins to sit up. Taking a look around, peering over the top of the grass, and squinting into the distance. Sansa spots movement, and she notices a figuring walking ahead of her, away from her position.

The figure is in all black, bag swung over the shoulder. A long blade strapped to their waist and cropped, brown hair. A man. No. A boy. Cor.

‘ _It’s Cor!_ ’

Her mind cries with relief as she scrambles up, unsteady, and runs for him, stumbling here and there. He’s already turning in her direction, having heard the fast approaching foot steps, hand on hilt and ready to attack as she calls out for him.

“ _Cor!_ ” It’s a yell of pure joy as she runs towards him. Sansa’s hair flying behind her, she sprints through the field and gets a brief look at his surprised expression just as she bodily slams into him, flinging her arms around his shoulders. He staggers under the surprise weight, hands automatically coming up to hold her. A breath of air was knocked out of him, and they fall back into the field of flowers.

“ _Cor!_ I’m so happy to see you!” She cries out again, tears starting to run down her cheeks.

She knows she is crying but holding them back feels pointless. Let the world know she is crying. Weeping. Let them know how over-joyed she feels at seeing this boy again. A boy who showed her simple kindness, never demanding more. Propping herself up above his fallen form, he stares wide eyed at her sudden appearance.

“ _Sansa?_ What-“ He splutters, baffled, his face turning a delightful shade of red.

Unthinkingly, his hand comes up and gently, reverently, brushes her cheek, and she leans into it. The first, proper contact they’ve made. One not out of surprise or necessity, but out of _care_. _Out of concern._ Feeling over-whelmed by everything that’s happened, Sansa lets out a small sob, the attack coming back in full force, she falls back onto his chest and lets herself cry her heart out, weeping in lingering fear.

Gripping his coat tightly, she buries her tearful face into it, wanting to sink into his tender protection and stay there forever.

Gentle hand running up and down her back, Cor lays there, allowing her release, keeping her safe in his arms whilst she’s vulnerable. The curl of his arm around her waist, the soothing, steady beat of his heart. Even the faint smell of sweat and dirt clinging to his skin from travel. _All of it._ She feels _completely_ and _utterly_ safe in his embrace.

Sansa is almost petrified at how much trust she is giving to this person, who is almost a stranger to her. But, she can’t quite understand why there is no fear that she feels. Can’t explain the almost _instinctive_ pull to him she has. He is a warrior, a _soldier_. That should immediately set her to guard, ready for an attack. But he hasn’t shown any violence towards her, even when she yelled at him. Cor just gave it right back, but never showed any movement of lashing out. His stern, grumbling demeanour is instead a comfort.

As her tears begin to slow, hitching breaths becoming steady, Cor gently asks, “Sansa, what _happened_?” His other hand comes up to caress through her loose hair.

“A man. M-my Aunt’s singer. He- He a-attacked me. His-s h-hand was on- on my th- _thigh_. And I-I _couldn’t_ -“ She cut off there, stuttering and unable to continue. The soothing hand freezes, and his body tightens. Hesitantly, she raises her head from his chest and looks at his expression, dreading a bad reaction. He doesn’t meet her gaze, instead just stares up at the sky. But his eyes are burning. There is a cold, deadly anger in them.

The arm around her has pulled Sansa closer into Cor’s body, and minutely her heart picks up, something fluttering in her belly makes her smile. It’s a small one, full of ease despite his obvious anger.

Cor begins to sit up, Sansa following with the motion, until they are both facing one another in the grass. The fierce look in his eyes has her breath catching as his warm hands gently take hers. This close to his face she can see that the sunlight make his eyes seem bluer, with gold dancing in them. There is a reined in temper, deep and ready to attack.

“ _It’s not your fault._ ” There is a stern demand to that statement, as if he is commanding soldiers on a battlefield. The absolute belief he has in his words, Sansa can’t help but believe them too. She always felt it was her’s. She always thought ‘ _If I was more careful_.’ ‘ _If I wasn’t pretty_ ’ and ‘ _If I wasn’t so weak_ ’, and to hear someone say with that it’s not her fault. It has her shaking.

Lip trembling, she ducks her head down and admits, “This-This isn’t the _first time_ someone tried to-“ The hands tighten like his arm did before. Then he lets go, hands sliding up to cup her cheeks, and he brings her head towards his.

For a brief second her heart leaps. But the solid, reassuring touch of their heads meeting. It’s _better_ than her assumption. Like this, she can continue looking into his eyes, watching his expressions.

Resting his forehead on hers, they stare at each other. The anger, the grief, the frustration, that boils in his eyes, she grasps it like a life line. The only other person who ever offered some comfort was Shae, and now she isn’t here. Still in King’s Landing. A part of her aches for her handmaid, a fierce, strong woman that said she would protect her.

And now, Cor looks the same way at her. With a shaky exhale she closes her eyes and soaks in his warmth.

“I’m going to give you something.”

She blinks at his soft, determined tone as they pull away from one another. He brings his right leg up and begins to unlace his boot. As he does, he continues to talk. “You will carry this around where ever you go. A man gets close and you want him away from your space, you bring this out.”

On his lower leg and ankle is a holster strapped around the limb. And tucked into the brown leather is two, small knives. One on each side. Unstrapping the holster he gestures for her leg.

Sansa feels a little embarrassed at showing the skin of her leg to a boy, someone who isn’t family, but he doesn’t react. Just firmly begins to strap the leather on, continuing his explanation. “There are a few ways you can get an attacker to back off without a weapon I can show you. But what I _really_ want to show is how to get them off you long enough for you to reach for a knife and stab them.”

Jerking at the last strap, he looks up at her, determination burning in his grey-blue eyes. Her lips part at the hand on her leg, almost breathless, and she doesn’t feel any fear like the other times. This one does not wander. This hand stays _exactly_ where it should and keeps all movement professional and brief.

She gives a small smile in gratitude, Cor nodding in response, as if knowing exactly what she is thinking. Tugging her skirt back over her leg, he deftly tugs her boot back on, quickly tying the laces.

He hefts himself up and offers his hands to pull her up. Holding the warm, calloused hands again, she allows herself to be lifted from her sitting position and watches as he takes a few steps back.

“Alright, here is what we’ll do. I’m going to show you how to get out of a few different holds, which means I will have to grab you, so if you need me to back off just tell me to ‘ _Stop_.’ Okay?” Checking to see if this is something she wishes to do.

“Okay.” Sansa nods, determined. A small smile quirks as Cor’s lips before he flattens it into a stern expression.

“Good. I will then show you how to hold a knife and parts of the body to go for. Most often people are trained to fight their opponent with some kind of honour or politeness. But fuck that. I’m going to teach you how to fight dirty. It’s your life and body on the line, and I want you to be able to do anything to get out of there alive and as unscathed as possible. Understood?”

Another nod, this time firmer. More serious. “Understood.”

He shows her different grips and holds from the front and back, showing her how to bite, claw, and knee at the more vulnerable parts of the human body. Anything to escape the holds. Every touch is as professional as before, and he takes his teaching seriously. Sansa absorbs everything he tells and shows her. From clawing at eyes, to biting fingers, to even how to knee with strength inbetween a man’s legs. Cor then has her take out one of the blades, showing her the proper handling.

“Go for the main arteries.” He instructs.

Blinking bewildered at the word, Sansa questions, “Arteries?”

“Yeah the uh-“ He stops and takes a proper look at her. The dress is the obvious give away, some strange medieval design, as well as some of her speech and mannerisms. ‘ _Oh right. Sheprobably isn’t from this time_.’ He thinks, though that’s just a guess. Cor still leans towards the ghost theory, but maybe she’s from a different world? ‘ _Okay. If ghosts are real, maybe teleportation can be too?_ ’

Truthfully he has no idea what to make of their meetings. They are somehow connected, if how she keeps arriving near him, but how? ‘ _The Astrals? Maybe?_ ’ He shakes his, storing that thought for later. Right now he needs to focus on explaining arteries to someone who has no idea what they are.

He clears is throat, “There are parts of the body that contain major blood flow. So if you stab deep, they could bleed out in minutes, even seconds. It will be very bloody, but you are free.”

Sansa nods in understanding, and waits for him to continue.

Cor starts to gesture areas of his body on where to stab. High up on the neck (‘ _honestly, if you cut wide and deep enough it doesn’t really matter where_ ’), the lower stomach area (‘ _Internal bleeding is a bitch and pretty hard to heal if you don’t have a good doctor on hand’ ‘doctor?’ ‘Um, healer?_ ’), and the upper inner thigh (‘ _This one is a major artery. I’ve seen people bleed out in second from a deep wound here. But if all else fails, you can just stab them in the dick. That would definitely get them to back off_ ’).

She feels like her head is swimming from all this knowledge, but a part of Sansa thinks darkly, ‘ _I almost can’t wait for the next person to try to touch me_.’ Inner voice vicious, feeling like she could bare her teeth like a wolf.

Sansa continues to practise the motion of sliding the daggers in and out of their holster, getting minutely faster each time. under Cor’s diligent gaze, she doesn’t feel pressured to be perfect, just ‘ _good enough to escape’_.

The sun is beginning to set, casting warm oranges and pinks in the sky, and Sansa brings herself to a halt, sweat gathering on her forehead and chest. A metal container is thrusted towards her, Cor murmuring, “Drink. You need to hydrate.”

The last word confuses her, but Sansa gets the idea. Popping off the lid of the strange container, she greedily takes a few gulps but stops, not wanting to drink his entire supplies. Lips wet, cheeks bulging from the water in her mouth, and droplets falling down her chin, she hands it back. Cor lets out a faint huff of amusement at her eagerness, and she swallows quickly, face blushing slightly at her unladylike manners.

‘ _He doesn’t seem to truly care though_ ,’ Sansa marvels, watching as he tucks the container into his bag. ‘ _He doesn’t care if she doesn’t keep to her courtesies and the lessons taught by her Septa._ ’ Turning to watch the sunset, Sansa whispers a heartfelt, “ _Thank you._ ”

Cor walks to her side, and it’s now she realises they are the same height. Sansa has always been a tall girl, towering over many men. It made her feel awkward, as girls should usually be smaller than boys. But here, Cor and her are equal in height. ‘ _He must still be growing though_.’ She thinks, wondering at his age.

“How old are you?” Sansa asks.

He looks at her, “15. You?”

“14.”

Eyebrows raise a little, surprised. “ _Huh_ , thought you were older.”

“It’s my height.” She gives a rueful smile.

Shaking his head, “Nah. I thought you were older because of how you act.”

“What do you mean?” Tilting her head in confusion, she watches him flounder a little for words.

“You have a... _maturity_? In your behaviour.” Giving a smile of pride she bobs a curtsey, mainly for teasing.

“Thank you good ser, for the compliment.” He quirks a tiny smirk at that and steps back, returning her curtsey with an over the top, flourishing bow. Giggling at his playful behaviour, she watches him straighten with a smile.

They stare for a few seconds before his face dims as he asks, “Will you be alright?”

Sansa’s shoulders droop and she turns back to the sinking sun, arms coming up to hold herself.

“ _I don’t want to leave._ ” A quiet admittance, soft and sad. 

“I thought you thought this was a dream.”

Biting her lower lip, turning his statement over in her mind. When she answers, it’s measured. “I did. I do. But, when I woke up from the desert, there was sand in between my toes. Which was odd because I never set foot on sand when I came aboard the boat.”

He hums in thought at her words. Then, gentle and slow, he reaches out and the back of his hand brushes against her elbow, drawing her gaze back to his. This storm cloud eyes are soft, comforting.

“I don’t want you to leave either.” Cor admits with a regretful tone. “With the things that happen to you there, I don’t want you getting hurt.” The hand draws back, clenching into a tight fist at his side. His tone is even, but his posture radiates anger.

Licking her lips nervously, Sansa confesses, “I sometimes wished, after the second visit, that you would appear before me.”

“Maybe I might. Next time.” The words a suggestion, but his voice tells of a promise.

With a sad, hopeful smile, “Next time.” Sansa murmurs. And she blinks.

The second Sansa disappears, Cor lets out a _roar_ of anger. Guttural and feral. Lets out all the anger he kept in check, not wanting to scare her. Holding it in, _waiting_ until he is alone to release it. It’s at this moment he wishes he had something to kill. A daemon, a person, _anything_. Or maybe more specifically, all the people who hurt her. Cor doesn’t understand where this protective fury is coming from, but, for the first time in weeks, he feels more alive and purposeful than ever. 

He was stunned at her sudden appearance, pleased at how happy she was to see him. He can still feel the weight of her body on his, her warmth. Though a little disappointed that her hair was a different colour, a dark, muddy brown. But his confusion was taken over by the desperate need to help her as Sansa began to cry. Cor never really comforts people. Usually he is gruff and awkward. A pat on the back, and firm grip on a shoulder. A quiet, regretful condolence. But holding someone who is crying their heart out? He just went what he thought would be best. Comforting embrace, and a listening ear.

And by the Astrals did he hear what she said. ‘ _This isn’t the first time_ ’ She said. So Cor took it upon himself to give her the tools and knowledge on how to make sure no one will try anything again. 

Cor couldn’t help the warm, pleased feeling at her wanting to stay with him, not wanting to leave. He was a jumble of emotions, not completely unusual for him. Those he fought with thought him cold, unfeeling. Hell, even the retinue think of him as a hot headed teen, and that was just the surface emotions he allowed them to see. He felt like any normal person, but learnt at a young age to not show it. But with Sansa. She brings out all those emotions he keeps locked up tight. Anger. Annoyance. Pride. Joy. A _tenderness_ he never thought he had. _And a protective streak he didn’t even show when with Regis and the Retinue_.

Staring up at the night sky, the stars glittering above him, Cor tries to remember everything from the visit. The main sensation and memory that stood out was when he was close to her face, head resting on her forehead. The bright blue eyes, like a rushing sea. Deep blue with an oncoming storm. The faint scent of flowers surrounding them, and a sweet aroma lingering on her skin. He can admit she is beautiful, he isn’t blind. But the thought of pursuing a relationship with her sits uncomfortably in his stomach. She’s been through _too much_ to even want that most likely. And with him-

He’s a _fucking wreck_. And currently on a march to fight with a god with a high body count.

 _No_. He will just be there when she needs him. And _maybe_ , _just maybe_ , she will listen to him when he finally has a chance to talk. 

With a deep breath, he continues forward, wanting to get to the haven not to far ahead as soon as possible. And if he notes the lack of weight on his leg. 

_Well_ ,

The blood-thirsty smirk that cracks across his stern face is for no one but him to know anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Forehead Touch™️ Though. Look at sansa go, learning to defend herself. Thats not to say she will learn to fight, you can be strong without learning to wield a sword. Cor is just really worried, and Sansa needs something to defend herself with when Cor isn’t there.
> 
> Okay so, I”m taking lost of events from the book, despite never having read it. Im using wiki... But! It’s because the show watered down alot that happened to Sansa believe it or not, and Tyrion in the book did touch her (apparently) but backed off because unlike whores, Sansa wasn’t faking her enjoyment, she showed how much she didn’t want this. Also, apparently she was 12-13? And so in this case, Sansa’s age is like in an in between state of the book and show? She married at 14.
> 
> Cor will have a pov soon, I promise! 
> 
> until next time!


	4. Absolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cor discovers that Littlefinger is a creepy rat man, and begins to find a purpose again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied forced drowning.

Having reached Cleigne about 2 weeks back, Cor just has another week or so of walking before he reaches The Tempering Grounds according to his map. 2 days ago he saw Sansa, having taught her how to defend herself, and for those 48 hours after he has felt nothing but anxiety, worried for the girl. He’s running on only a few hours of sleep, fear gripping his heart so tightly that it made it hard to sleep.

So he trudges on, exhausted, in a half-panic half-angry state, and in a terrible need for a wash. But his stupid fear of water was making it difficult for his manic brain to understand his desire to be clean. He’s gone on for longer with no sleep or wash, but that doesn’t mean he particularly enjoys it. 

At this point he was just going to day ‘ _fuck it_ ’ to his fear and find the closest water source and fall in, clothes and all.

Just his luck though, that as he makes that Internal resignation to do just that, he hears the trickle of a stream on his left as he walks through a forest. _Fucking Cleigne_. Nothing but trees and mountains. He would find it beautiful if he didn’t get tried of it on the first couple of days upon entering the country.

Pushing aside tree branches, he steps up to the shoreline of the stream. ‘ _It’s not too deep_ ,’ Cor sighs with relief. ‘ _Most likely only comes up to my waist_.’ With another sigh of sufferance, he sits on the rocky shore and starts to untie his shoe laces, pulling his socks off afterwards.

Wrinkling his nose at the stink of them and the holes that are appearing in the toes and heel, he tosses them on his boots and begins to wade into the water. Having left his sword on his bag by his shoes, Cor begins to soak himself with another sigh. This one of relief.

It’s cold, making him tense at first, but as he adjusts to the temperature, Cor begins to strip off his jacket and shirt, and dunks them into the water, giving them a wash as best as he can. Like an idiot, he ran out of soap, and forgot to pick up another bar at the last town he passed through. Which was a week or so ago.

Grumbling in annoyance at his mistake, he wrings out the jacket and shirt, tossing them onto a large rock jutting out the stream, allowing them to dry in the warm sun.

Dipping hands into the water and scrapping the grim off his skin, he leaves his face for last, as he usually does. But spending another five minutes washing his torso for the third time, he takes a deep breath to calm his hammering heart, and slowly sinks into a sitting position in the water, stream coming up to his throat now. His mouth is screwed into a twist of determination as he dunks his head under water.

The first second is alright, but then the water rushing around his ears starts his panic, and he pulls himself out, flailing and gasping in desperation, scrambling to the rock with his clothes. Clutching the stone like a lifeline, he scrunches his eyes tight, trying to regulate his breathing.

The phantom sensation of large, tight hands on his neck and head are making it difficult for him to calm down, and he begins to lightly smack his head on the rock, muttering to himself.

“He’s gone. _He’s gone_. You’re _alive_. You can breath. _You’re fine_.” Repeating this mantra, he takes deep breaths through his nose and out his mouth, remembering the research he did some years back. Having refused any proper therapy, not wanting to bare his baggage to a stranger, no matter how professional they were, he just did some research on coping mechanisms for abuse and ptsd.

It was helpful, but deep down he knew he would never get over the fear of water over his head.

It’s that evening, having found a haven not too far upstream, clothes dry and back on him, Cor sits in front of the fire he’s made, fish that he caught earlier cooking, and he stares up at the stars, waiting to eat.

“I wonder if the stars are the same for her.” He murmurs out loud to himself, wondering about the world Sansa is from. Looking back at his dinner, he checks it over and then digs in.

Later, curling up on his bed roll, facing the low flames, he finally gives into sleep. The past few days having truly caught up to him now, and the emotional exhaustion taking it’s toll.

A blink and pure white fills his vision. Old stone walls surround a courtyard, snow covering every inch of it. Bare trees, benches, and stairs. His breath puffs out in front of him, and Cor shivers. Having used his jacket as a blanket, he’s now in his boots, pants, and tee-shirt, Kotetsu strapped to his waist. As he begins to take a look around, he hears talking, and crouches down behind a stone wall that connects to a bannister staircase, leading to the main floor of the courtyard.

“-We can build the moondoor, right _here_ -“ It’s a child’s voice, high and reedy. Might be a young boy.

“Now you’ve _ruined_ it and I will have to rebuild.” The woman’s voice is familiar and it sounds annoyed and disappointed.

“I _didn’t_ ruin it!” The boy argues back, the girl insisting that he did.

“ _Yes_ you did-“

“-It was _already ruined_ because it had no moondoor!” The child’s voice is arrogant and spoiled, and it’s already grating on his nerves.

There is then sounds of snow crunching and grunts of exertion. Peaking over the edge, he sees who he assumes is the young boy stomping on some kind of snow construction, with the woman standing nearby. Her posture is tense and upset, trying to hold back. It’s as the boy stops his wanton destruction, the woman suddenly slaps him. Quick and efficient. 

Biting his lip to stop from laughing, he watches the boy run away crying with now woman trying to apologise. It’s as she turns to watch the boy leave, that he sees her face.

Cor’s face lights up in recognition and joy, as he begins to come out of his crouch, but stops, having spot movement from across the courtyard. On another stair case, mirroring the one he’s on, a man comes walking down, steps slow and deliberate. Dressed in blacks and grey, he has the face of a rat in Cor’s opinion. “Children.” The man says, slinking over to Sansa.

“I _shouldn’t_ of done that.” Guilt seeps into Sansa’s voice. A part of him softens at her admission. Even when the boy destroyed something she put a lot of hard work into, she still has the kindness to feel sorry for her reaction.

“No. His mother should’ve. A _long_ time ago.” The man’s voice was low, whispery. And it set every alarm off in his body. His movements bring him closer to Sansa, and a part of him was ready to jump down and defend her. But, she doesn’t seem afraid. Tense? Yes. But afraid? No. So he waits, body practically vibrating with how much he was holding himself back.

“If he tells Aunt Lysa-“ Sansa begins to insist, but the creepy man interrupts.

“-Let _me_ worry with Aunt Lysa.” He sounds sure of himself. The Aunt Sansa is talking about must be the boy’s mother. So this man most likely holds some kind of sway over her.

The man peers down at the destroyed sculpture, and Sansa looks mournful at it. Resigned.

“I was trying to remember what everything looked like. I will never see it again.”

Stepping closer again, he pauses, before continuing his hushed way of speaking. “A lot can happen between now and never. If you want to build a better home, you must demolish the first one.” Another pause. His words hold secrecy, hold knowledge that only he knows, and Sansa can see that too. Cor is not liking the hidden suggestions in this man’s tone.

Sansa stares at the man before demanding,

“Why did you _really_ kill Joffrey? Tell me why.” If Cor wasn’t tense already he would be now. Who ever this Joffrey was, he must’ve been important to Sansa. And this man killed him. Her tone of voice though does not sound mournful, just confused and insistent.

With that hoarse, whispery voice of his, he confesses, “I loved you mother more than you could ever know. Given the opportunity what do we do to the those who hurt the ones we love?” Cor raises his eyebrows in surprised interest at that information, and stores it away for later. The man is now a breaths away from Sansa, and Cor is not liking this closeness. But she isn’t going for any knives, so again, he waits. It goes against every instinct of his to, but this is Sansa’s world, her life. She knows it better than he.

“In a better world. One where _love_ could over come _strength_. And _duty_. You might’ve been my child. But we don’t live in that world.” The man’s hand comes up, brushing at Sansa’s hair, the brown having faded a bit, so the red is starting to shine through. The alarms in his head blare louder at the gesture.

“You’re more beautiful than she ever was.” Cor has to strain to hear it, the man having got quieter.

“ _Lord Baelish_ -“ Sansa starts, voice unsteady, unnerved. His hands come up, cupping her cheeks and pulls her in.

“-Call me Petyr.” He whispers, right before kissing her.

Cor is frozen in shock. This was a twist he wasn’t expecting, but he should’ve with the unsettling vibe surround the man. Cor’s instincts are never wrong. Anger begins to course through his veins, like a wildfire igniting, and he stands, ready to attack. But another movement catches his eye, and he twists around. On an upper balcony, stands a woman, hidden in the shadows. She is watching the scene before them, and her face twists into one of pure loathing and madness. She doesn’t seem to see him, even as her eyes pass over him as she turns and leaves.

Confused, Cor turns back around just in time to see Sansa pull away, and pause. He can’t see her face right now, but she is rigid. _Shaken_. Quickly, she hurries away, leaving the man, Petyr, alone. Cor’s eye’s narrow and he leaps over the edge of the stair case, landing with a dull thump.

The small theory he was forming is proven correct. Petyr doesn’t even react, just staring at where Sansa had left. Tightening his grip on his sword, Cor runs after Sansa, needing to see if she is okay.

Not too far ahead in a stone corridor, he spots her, cloak swaying in her fast stride. Keeping his footsteps silent, he follows. Passing other people here and there, none even glance at him. Cor figured that if he follows her, keeping quiet so that when they are alone, she can talk to him without other people thinking she’s gone mad, talking to thin air.

As she comes to a small hallway, with only a wooden door at the end, it’s only then that he finally calls out to her.

“ _Sansa._ ” It’s a short, urgent whisper. Jumping in fright, she turns around and freezes,gaping at the sight of him.

“Cor! _What-_ “

Then realising where they’re at, shehalts her exclamation and opens the door, quickly, quietly ushering him in. His usual instincts and hyper vigilance has him casting a look around the room automatically. Looking for exits, hidden spaces, and other people. It’s a fairly decent sized room with a four poster bed, thick forest green sheets layered over it. A fire place with a chair by it. A wooden wardrobe and a vanity of the same dark wood.

Finishing his survey of the room, he looks back at Sansa. She’s pale, more than usual, and her entire body is trembling as she undoes her cloak, hands shaking, hanging it by the door. With quick steps he strides up to her and stops a foot away. His hands are hovering over her, not wanting to touch without permission, but wanting to be able to comfort her.

Seeing him like that, Sansa gives a nod of okay, bottom lip wobbling as her blue eyes become glassy with tears. Not wasting time, Cor scoops her up into a tight embrace, holding her as she cries silently. Her trembling body held in his arms has him gritting his teeth in anger. If it wasn’t for how no one else could see him, and the fact that Sansa comes first in this matter, he would be out of this room in a second flat, gunning for Petyr. That man would deserve the pain and more.

But he has to stifle that rage, that pure fury that’s flowing through him, because Sansa is more important. So he holds her tight, offering the comfort that she is certainly not getting here, and waits for her to be able to speak.

As her tears come to sniffles, and his shoulder is very wet, she lifts her head. The helplessness that he can see in those deep, blue eyes, it makes his heart clench. Then he sees her, slowly leaning in, and their foreheads touch once again.

His breath hitches silently at the gesture, and something in his heart begins to beat wildly. Pushing that feeling away, Cor decides to takes strength from this comfort, though it’s mainly for her. The last few days, the worry, the fear. It all melts away in this instance. The sound of her breathing, the smell of her scent. Cor focuses on that, anchoring his spiralling emotions, and calms himself.

He knows this dependency he is developing is unhealthy, but _damn it!_ He has felt so lost and adrift since being discharged and left alone. Unknowingly, the sad girl, just as alone has he is, has become his new purpose. And he’d be damned if he allows anymore harm come to her when he can do something about it.

Easing her slowly, Cor leads her to the bed, and sitting her down gently. Joining her on her left, he takes her hand, gripping it firmly. Asking softly, “Is this the man who saved you from the lions?”

She nods, staring at their clasped hands. Sansa’s voice is still wobbly from crying as she answers slowly. “Yes. His name is Petyr Baelish. Or Littlefinger. He’s married my aunt.”

Equally slow, he replies. “So you _uncle by marriage_. And _apparently_ someone who loved your _mother_. _Kissed you._ ” His voice sounds dead in his ear. Blank. But the disgust and hatred? That was written plain as day on his face. But Sansa takes it the wrong way, snatching her hand out of his.

“ _I didn’t want him to!_ ” She cries out, betrayal blatant in her tone, thinking he blames her for Petyr’s actions.

Inwardly he curses at his bad choice of wording, as he grasps her hands tightly, falling into a kneel in front of her. “No! _Sansa no_ , I’m _not_ blaming you! I know you didn’t ask for it, _I would never say that!_ ”

Sniffling, her eyes are wide like a deer, taking in his words. “ _Really_?” She asks in a tiny voice. Squeezing her hands, he affirms, “ _Really_. _Never_ blame yourself for other people’s choices.”

It’s as he says this that something triggers in his mind. Squeezing his eyes shut, he swallows down a lump building in his throat. “Cor?” Sansa asks softly, worried. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge his dark thoughts.

“It’s nothing.” It’s a bad lie, voice hoarse. Sansa picks up on it, and she squeezes back.

“Liar.” She chides, “What are you thinking?”

Swallowing again, Cor tries to centre his thoughts, but it’s difficult. He wants to brush off her question. Move on to a different topic. But, she’s been so honest with him, shouldn’t he return the favour?

He stutters out quietly, “Do-Do..you think. That it’s _my fault_. That I was discharged?” His gaze which was turn downwards flicker up into her eyes, desperate for some kind closure. Some kind of acceptance, or forgiveness. Why did they discard him like a used toy?

Sansa hesitates, before saying softly, “I would say no, but. I don’t know the entire story.”

He looks away again, uncertain whether he wants to reopen this wound, but she needs to know so she can judge him worthy of his punishment or not. In a low, voice, trying to keep it steady, he begins his defence. 

“I spoke out of turn. I called the king, Regis, and all his counsellors, cowards for not doing enough in the war. They- _So many_ civilians were _dying_. _Innocent_ people! We were losing _more_ and _more_ territory, and we would only fight defensively. Reacting to an attack instead of planning and executing one. Never on the offence. We never have the upper hand, and they just kept _sitting there_! Barely _doing_ anything the help those that are caught in the crossfire!”

His breathing is fast by the end of his explanation, and his heart hammering at the dishonourable memory that is playing in his mind. Over and over.

“Oh.” Sansa breaths out. Her face goes from shock, to contemplative, as she considers his words. Cor waits in suspense, equally dreading her judgement and hoping for understanding. Finally, she looks as if she’s come to some sort of conclusion, and begins speaking.

Voice strong and unwavering, “ _In defence_ of the king, he had the right to discharge you because of how your words could be taken for treason. I know that if I had spoken out to King Joffrey in front of his court like that he would react with my execution. But, I sense that the king was an almost friend of yours?” Pausing she watches him nod with confirmation, and then continues, “ _So_ , I think _banishing_ you was an extreme if he valued your friendship.”

Sansa stops, worrying her bottom lip, and Cor can feel the defeat slumping his shoulder. ‘ _But_ _I was right_ ,’ Cor thinks resigned. ‘ _I deserved it. It was my fault_.’

Hands squeeze his again, and Cor jerks his head up. Sansa meets his gaze from where he knees, almost in supplication.

“But I think you did the right thing, speaking for the people who had no voice. _Yes_ , maybe the way you phrased it was _wrong_. Maybe you should’ve said something to the king in private. But your _banishment_ was too extreme in my opinion. I know that if I,”

She stops, hesitating, before swallowing nervously. Her eyes dart to the door, before she speaks again. “If I became queen. I would value other people’s counsel. Even if they speak out of turn. If their thoughts and opinions hold weight, I would consider it seriously.” As she comes to a finish, she smiles softly at him, and slides off the bed to the ground in front of him.

Cor has to shuffle back to give her space, but then he is pulled into a sudden, tight hug. One arm slides under his own arms to his back, and the other comes up, carding through his hair, cradling his head.

“ _You did not deserve to be banished, Cor._ They were your _friends_ , and they _shouldn’t_ have cast you out for a mistake made in compassion.” Breathless, Cor can feel his eyes start to sting. Burying his face into the junction of her shoulder, he lets out a shaky breath. Hands running through his hair soothes his aching heart, and he can feel the walls built up start to crumble.

Pursing his lips to muffle the whine that tries to escape, he allows himself to cry in her embrace. She rocks him back and forth softly, soothingly. In the bouts of tears and cries, he hears Sansa whisper, “I would never abandon you. _Never._ ”

Holding on to her tight, tighter, he keeps his eyes closed, savouring this moment.

The weight of her arms around him, the scent of her person, the cold stone under his legs. It all slowly drifts away, and when he opens his eyes, he is laying on his side.

The fire’s embers are low, heat barely there, and Cor shivers. Not from the outside temperature, but from the lack of a warm embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. 
> 
> Listen, Cor feels like it’s all his fault, and like what Sansa said, yeah i he probably shouldn’t have called the king and his men cowards, but discharge and in Sansa’s words, banishment, are not the way to go for a teen with nothing but the security of his job. Without his purpose as a soldier he feels useless and discarded. So, pretty shitty of Regis. I might write something from his POV on the topic but i dunno. 
> 
> But anyways! Here is Cor’s first proper POV! I decided not to do Sansa’s at the end, because it was getting kinda hefty. As he thought before, his dependancy that is slowly forming for Sansa, could kinda seem unhealthy. But she is one of the first person to truly listen and be on his side. Yeah Cid is on his too, but Cor can’t see that. Sansa though is an outside perspective and giving the honest judgement and comfort he needs. Their relationship is built on honesty, it’s what they both need. And so the develop slowly a co-dependancy because they lack support from everywhere else.
> 
> And i had to watch baelish kiss sansa multiple times to get the dialogue right. Gross. The dialogue is taken from the show as this is a mix between the show and book. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Until next time


	5. Lies and Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa plays the game and secures an ally. Cor arrives at his destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight, here we go!

Being on the other end of disappearing was strange. One moment Sansa was comforting Cor, her arms wrapped tight around his trembling frame. The next he was leaving like smoke from a fire and she was left alone on the cold stone floor grasping at air. Arms held aloft in empty space, Sansa curled them around herself, holding her body tightly, trying to keep the warmth his body provided.

For a split second, she is in silence, but then quick footsteps approach her door. Hurrying to stand up, the wooden door is flung open, slamming against the stone walls with a loud bang. Standing in the doorway is Aunt Lysa, fuming like a raging bull. Sansa is frozen in shock at the twisted features of her Aunt.

She comes charging in, and Sansa tries to scramble away from the advancing, angry woman, but Lysa is faster. “You _whore!_ ” She screams.

A crow like hand snatches at Sansa’s hair, causing the girl the cry out in pain, and with surprising strength, her aunt begins to drag her out of the room.

“Aunt Lysa! _Please, stop!_ ” Sansa is gripping at Lysa’s arm, trying to get her to release her hair, but the older woman has a tighter grip. She stumbles along, tripping and almost falling if it wasn’t for the hand in her hair. Dragged along, she has no choice but to listen to her Aunt’s mad ravings.

“ _Whore!_ I _saw_ you kissing him! _I saw you!_ ” She’s shrieking, and servants in the corridor quickly move out of the way of their Lady’s rampage through the hallway. Sansa doesn’t even bother to beg for another’s help, knowing that none would do anything. So instead she tries to beg with her Aunt, tries to make Lysa see reason.

“ _Please!_ I didn’t want him to, it’s not my _fault_!” Desperate cries fall upon ignoring ears.

“ _Liar! Whore! Temptress!_ ” Lysa spits out, vile words flying out in a sharp and vicious tone.

“ _Please!_ ”

They arrive at the room with the moondoor, and Sansa can feel her panicking skyrocket at the open space in the floor. She drags Sansa over, holding her above the door, the cold wind blowing through chills her to the bones. She tries to stop the pushing by bracing herself against the small stone walls that semi-circle the moondoor.

Aunt Lysa continues to rage, threatening and shaking Sansa’s terrified body over the moondoor.

“You thought you could steal him away like my perfect sister did, didn’t you? But he’s _mine!_ ”

Trying to explain one last time, “He _kissed me_ Aunt Lysa! I didn’t want-“

“STOP _LYING!_ HE’S MINE _HE’S MINE_!” But it was in vain. So Sansa steels herself, gritting her teeth, and gripping the small walls tightly, she uses one of her legs to kick back into her Aunt’s stomach. The painful grip on her is released, and Sansa scrambles away from the moondoor and from her gasping, breathless aunt. With hands she tries to keep steady, Sansa reaches down and pulls out a dagger.

Her Aunt is doubled over herself, holding her stomach as she struggles to catch her breath. The mad woman stares at her niece in shock, watching the girl stand with determined but fearful strength and a blade pointed at her in defence. Breathing heavily, Sansa, spits out,

“ _Listen_ to me. He _doesn’t_ love you, Aunt Lysa! He’s _manipulating_ you.” Practically pleading for Lysa to understand, but the woman shakes her head in denial.

“No! He _loves me!_ He _married_ me!” She cries out, but there are tears building in her eyes. It’s as if she knows Sansa is right, but doesn’t want to believe it. Doesn’t want to think that the man she loves doesn’t return her affections.

“He _lying_ to you!” Sansa insists. But it’s at this point that Lord Baelish steps in the room. He surveys the situation, eyes lingering on the dagger in Sansa’a hands, before turning to Lysa.

Speaking softly, gently, Lord Baelish walks to her. “ _Lysa_ ,” He tries to place comforting hand on her, but she pulls away. Her entire body and face shows how distraught she is. Over-wracked with grief and despair.

“You want her don’t you? She’ll _never_ love you! _I_ love you! I’ve _lied_ for you, I’ve _killed_ for you! She’s just an _empty headed child!_ ” Her eyes are full of tears, dripping down her face, and she’s bawling out her words and accusations. Weeping and crying, agonised over her love for him. This time when Lord Baelish comforts her, she allows it, falling apart in his arms, cries echoing the chamber. Sansa looks to the door, and spots that it’s closed. No spectators. No guards rushing in. There is a heavy stone in Sansa’s stomach. 

Lord Baelish gently strokes her hair, rocking her back and forth. Sansa is struck by the parallel between them, and her and Cor. But this, this is built on _lies_. Their relationship is not really love, just _manipulation and obsession_. Her blade has lowered at this point, and with Lord Baelish facing away from her, she discreetly tucks it into her dress pocket, ready for quicker access if needed.

“Oh my sweet wife. My sweet, silly wife.” He murmurs crooning, before drawing back, hands coming up to cup Aunt Lysa’s face.

“There is only one woman that I ever loved. _One_ woman.” Sansa can feel the stone moving up from her stomach to her throat, knowing the answer. But her Aunt doesn’t.

Smiling in relief, her eyes full of love, Aunt Lysa looks at Lord Baelish as if he’s hung the moon. But his next words has her face falling. Sansa then realises how close they are to the moondoor.

“ _Your sister_.”

Sansa gasps in shock as her aunt is pushed out the door, screaming in fear. She stands, frozen and distressed at another murder of her kin. Turning an astonished and disbelieving expression to Lord Baelish, he just gives her this look. A twitch of his lips, showing that he found this entire event humorous, and eyes that seem to bore into her soul. She doesn’t bother asking why he killed Aunt Lysa. She knows why. Power. He can now manipulate Robyn, and control the Vale.

With what Lysa said, about having _killed_ for him, her death means that no one will know the truth of whoever was killed by her hand. But Sansa. Sansa has a feeling that she might.

And then there’s her. Lord Baelish now has Sansa, with no interference. She is no fool, having learnt what the unsettling gazes and the close proximity of her space that he continues to breech means for her. He wishes to have her, like he wished to have her mother. ‘ _But he will not have me_.’ She thinks with a deadly promise. ‘ _If he lays one finger on me I will cut it off._ ’

When the other lords have arrived, and seeing Lord Baelish by the moondoor and no Aunt Lysa anywhere, they take him captive. Leading him into a chamber for questioning, Sansa is left outside by the door to wait.

She’s in a dilemma. A part of her knows she needs to stay with Lord Baelish, because at the very least he wants her safe and alive. But the other part doesn’t want to stay with him any longer than she needs. If she tells the truth, he will be executed no doubt. But where will that leave her. She doesn’t know these Vale lords. Doesn’t know if they have her best interests at heart.

She thinks about what Cor would do. And then chides herself for that thought. ‘ _He would never be in this situation. He would’ve just killed Lord Baelish and be done with it._ ’ But she needs to think strategically. Sansa needs to survive, but not live a life as someone’s pawn and stand-in for the person that they lusted after.

So maybe. _Just maybe_ , there was a third option for her.

Turning to the guard at the door, she asks quietly, “Afterwards, when he is alone. Could you ask Lord Royce if I could have a meeting with him? _Just_ him?”

The guard hesitates, before giving an awkward nod in agreement. “Of course, m’lady.” She smiles back, and does a bobbed curtsey in thanks.

When the door opens, she finally plays the game.

It’s late in the evening, and Sansa is in her chambers, still dressed, that there is a knock at her door. Calling out for them to enter, it’s the guard from before. He peaks in and says softly, “Lord Royce will see you.”

She stands up from her vanity, straightening her skirts. “Is he here?”

The guard shakes his head, opening the door wider, “No m’lady. I’m to escort you to his study, if it pleases you.” She smiles and begins to follow him out.

“Thank you Ser.”

Ahead of her the guard stumbles, “Ah-h, i’m no Ser, m’lady.”

Fighting back a smile at the young guard’s nervous demeanour, Sansa gently asks, “Then what’s your name?”

“Luka, m’lady.”

Sansa hums in interest, “‘ _Luka_ ’. Interesting name.”

“Y-yes, m’lady. I’m from Braavos.”

She widens her eyes in surprise, having thought that his accent was different, but not knowing exactly where from. “ _Oh!_ You’re quite far from home.” She exclaims, waiting for his answer.

However, she doesn’t get it as they stop outside a door, the guard knocking on the wood. A muffled reply is heard, and Luka opens the door for her. Giving a curtsey in thanks, she walks into the study, door creaking shut behind her.

Taking a glance around the room, it’s lit with a crackling fireplace, with a thick large desk to the right and even larger bookcases to the left, overflowing in scrolls and books. Lord Yohn Royce sits at his desk, head bent over a scroll. Sansa patiently waits for him to finish, hands folded delicately in front of her. The weight of her dagger strapped to her leg, and the one in her pocket brings a quiet reassurance for her.

When he finally looks up, he offers her a warm but curious smile, “Lady Sansa. You wished to meet with me?”

She curtsies, “Yes Lord Royce. I have information I wish to discuss.” The lord raises an eyebrow in interest, and waves a hand for her to sit across from his desk. Walking over, she sits and spends a second observing the man.

She is putting a lot of faith in his honour and his friendship with her father. ‘ _Hopefully_ ,’ she thinks with her nervous abuzz, ‘ _he will listen_ ’. Taking a deep breath, she begins.

“The story I told you and the other lord and lady. It wasn’t entirely true.”

He sits up in alarm, a rumbling demand eaves his chest. “ _What_?”

Holding up her hand for him to pause, she pleads, “Please hear me out, Lord Royce.”

Though he sits back, his posture is no less tense. But she has his full attention.

“What was true is that _I am_ Sansa Stark, and Lord Baelish _did_ help me escape King’s Landing. The abuse and torment I suffered at the hand’s of King Joffrey and his Kingsguard is also true. But, Lord Baelish, isn’t _exactly_ a friend. During my time there I only talked to him a few times, with him offering some sort of advice, each time making me uncomfortable. Unable to trust him. When he helped me escape, he told me that he orchestrated the death of the king, and. _I believe_. That, what Aunt Lysa said before her death, he may have had a hand in killing Jon Arryn.” She finishes is a whisper, eyes darting to the door.

He is shocked, “ _Lady Sansa_ -“

Quickly interrupting him, “My Lord please. This is only a theory, but when Aunt Lysa had dragged me to the moondoor, threatening to kill me, Lord Baelish arrived. During that time she said to him, ‘ _I’ve lied for you. I’ve killed for you._ ’ And, with how hastily she left King’s Landing after her husbands death, and did not respond to any summons, I just feel suspicious. Especially if Lord Baelish is involved.”

There is a tense silence between them, Lord Royce coming to terms with her admission, and Sansa with bated breath, hoping against hope that he believes her. Closing his eyes, he lets out an aggrieved sigh, hand coming up to rub at his forehead.

“There’s more, isn’t there.” She nods, though he can’t see her movement.

“Lord Baelish pushed Aunt Lysa out the moondoor.” It was said with a steady, firm tone.

In a flash, Lord Royce had stood up, chair screeching behind him. His face was red from anger as he spits out, “ _That lying_ -!”

Standing up herself, wanting to put distance between her and an angry man, she tries to calm him, not wanting his yelling to summon anyone. “Lord Royce! You can’t punish him yet!”

Turning blazing eyes onto her rigid form, he argues with a fierce rumble. “And why shouldn’t I? If what you say is true, that he has murdered both Lord and Lady Arryn, his death-“

“Would cause many complications.” She blurts out.

“How so?” Though his body is still taut with anger, he is listening to her. Hurried she explains.

“He has many connections, is now the currant Lord of the Vale, and I believe that with his help, I can take back my home.”

Scoffing, Lord Royce drawls out, “You wish to keep this rat of a man around, just so you can-“

Now she is angry. Is it truly _so wrong_ of her to want to go _home?_ To desperately wish to feel safe again within the wall of Winterfell. Her voice trembles with anger. “I didn’t say he would _never_ receive his punishment. When it comes the time, _yes,_ he can die. But right now, he holds a lot of power. And with me back in Winterfell, the North will ease it’s dissent. Many lords and heirs died in my brother’s war, and now an enemy of my family, the Boltons hold Winterfell. _My home_!” Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she tries to negotiate, “You are an honourable man, Lord Royce. Just like my father was. If you help me take back my home, the North will hold an alliance with the Vale for many years to come. I _swear_ it. My future children could ward here like my father was. There could be betrothals as well. If the Vale needs men, I would have the North ride. _But I need you to help me first. Please._ ”

There is a ringing silence left in the wake of her speech. What she says next isn’t really a manipulation if it’s a truth, right? Arms curling around her body, she whispers, “I don’t want Lord Baelish to be the only person I can rely on.”

“ _What has he done to you_.” A dark whisper, concern and disgust plainly heard.

Letting out a derisive scoff, “Besides unwanted touches, staring at me with greed? Saying I look like my mother, that he loved my mother. And then kissing me.”

“The cheek-”

Looking in straight in the eyes, “It was the lips, my Lord.”

There is sadness and regret in his eyes as he murmurs in sympathy, “ _Lady Sansa..._ ”

“I fear how far he will go to have me.”

Slowly, he comes around his desk, and gently takes hold of her shoulders. He squeezes them in comfort. “He will not. I _swear_ to the gods, Lady Sansa.”

She can feel herself finally relaxing. This was a gamble, Sansa unsure if he would truly listen to her words. When she was alone in her room after finally playing the game, she had time to think over what Aunt Lysa had said before her death. It was strange, but this isn’t the first time she’s seen Lord Baelish manipulate people. And with a gossip she heard throughout her stay in the capital, Sansa came to a conclusion. Whether it’s true or not, either way, it works in her favour.

She does not want to stay a pawn in Lord Baelish’s grasp, and she _certainly_ doesn’t want to be the _replacement_ for his lust for her mother. They just needed to come up with a plan.

So, straightening her spine, filling her back with steel, she looks up at Lord Royce and says, “Shall we begin?”

Cor panted heavily as he finally climbed over the rocky incline. Standing at the top, he saw his destination in sight. Even with it being daylight, the Tempering Grounds was shrouded in shadows, built into a ruined cave. From where he stands, he can see strange, curved and pointed stone forming from the ground. The entire place looks like it’s falling apart.

He’s tired, completely exhausted from his journey here. So, with a sigh, he starts to set up camp, get something to eat. Cor will need his full strength when he faces off with Gilgamesh tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of a focus on Sansa, but next chapter there will be more Cor.
> 
> So Lysa’s death went a little differently, and instead of her summoning Sansa, she dragged her. Thats mainly because i totally forgot sansa was summoned and then i liked the way it went. Sansa is fighting back a little! Woo! She is slowly getting there tho, and I don’t want to make her an actual fighter. You can be strong without learning how to wield a blade, but having protection is still a good idea. 
> 
> Now, onto her talking to Lord Royce. She has Cor now, someone she knows she can rely on, and so she isn’t completely alone and having to rely on Baelish. Unknowingly she has become more sure of herself, and is starting to take control of her life because Cor has encouraged her in some way, even if he hasn’t said anything. 
> 
> With her trying to stop Lysa and talking to her, I honestly feel bad for Lysa. Married to man who as basically her father’s age, so many miscarriages, and then constant manipulation from Baelish? I really feel sorry for her, and Sansa is more aware of what Baelish is doing. She lived in King’s Landing for god’s sake! She learnt to manipulate before leaving, even if she was just starting out. Yes she is trusting, but she is aware of who to not trust. Ser Dontos, was genuinely wanting to help her, even if it was under Baelish’s orders. She could tell he wanted to truly help. She has learnt to spot those who mean her harm and those that don’t. So her trying the help her aunt, to free her from Baelish’s grasp, it was her family. One of the last family members she has. Of course she would try to save her, even after Lysa threatened to kill her. Sansa’s main redeeming trait is her empathy and mercy. 
> 
> Anyways, rant over. Thank you for reading! Until next time.


	6. The lion-hearted and the wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa declares what’s hers, and yells some fucking self-confidence into Cor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we fucking go, sailors.

The day after the meeting with Lord Royce has Sansa ready to lie down. After their talk, she went back to bed, hoping she would see Cor after closing her eyes. Instead she opened them to the next morning. Disappointed, she went on about her day, but paid extra attention to Lord Baelish, wanting to make sure he hasn’t caught wind of her planning behind his back.

So along with the appropriate mourning, which she didn’t entirely fake, she made sure to try and comfort Robyn when he heard the news. Sansa apologised for slapping him as well, but he was too distraught over his mother’s death to even care. He barred everyone from his rooms, which she took with grace, understanding his need for solitude during grieving. Though she was no less worried. The boy may have irritated her, but he was young and sheltered, not able to understand what was happening around him.

It felt like a very trying day despite the lack of anything truly happening. She wandered around the castle, every now and then talking to servants and guards. She ran into Luka again as well, and got to have another chat with him, this time learning about how he came to Westeros from Braavos.

It’s during this conversation that Marillion walks passed them, eyes widening in fear as he sees her, before scurrying away. Putting on a clueless expression, she turned back to Luka, remarking casually, “That was strange.”

Luka frowned, watching the bard’s retreat. “Yes. Normally that man has little fear when it comes to women.”

Cocking her head, Sansa asked, “What do you mean?”

His frown deepens, a look of revulsion clear as day. “I’ve heard many stories from maids and servants. That man as touched many women against their will. The late Lady Arryn...” He hesitates, looking at her, unsure if he should continue.

Sansa gives him a nod, “Continue, I will listen.”

Swallowing nervously, Luka begins. “Marillion had Lady Arryn’s favour. So when victims came forward, stating that he molested and- _Raped_ them, she would never believe them. Calling them liars and whores. It has allowed him free reign of the female population.”

Softly, Sansa places her hand on his arm, seeing that he is obviously shaken by this information. “I’m sorry that you had to tell me this. That you’ve held onto this knowledge.” But he shakes his head and looks her in the eye. A fierce look of strength held in them.

“Don’t apologise to _me_ , m’lady. _I’m_ not the one who was raped and silenced like the women were.”

The night she was attacked by Marillion and then disappeared, she awoke in her bed. Confused on how she got there, Sansa left her room in a hurry, only to bump into a guard at her door. Upon asking him how she got here, the guard said that she was found collapsed in the hallway, unconscious. Seeing as her ‘ _father_ ’, was occupied with his bedding, the guard took it upon himself to get her to her room safely and guard her until she awoke.

The more she thought about it, the more Sansa found the entire circumstance almost amusing. This drunken man, trying to rape her, only to have her _completely_ disappear from sight. He must have been terribly confused and scared. But in his drunken state, no one believed him. She was also very relieved that her body disappeared with her. Not being touched when unconscious and unaware. After catching the sand in her toes though, and taking the knives with her, Sansa wasn’t stupid. Slow-learner, yes. But not stupid.

She was _actually_ going to where ever Cor was, and it wasn’t all a _dream_. 

Now, whenever Marillion sees her in the hallways, he pales and disappears, muttering words like ‘ _magic_ ’ and ‘ _witch_ ’ under his breath, which she takes with such delicious pleasure. Hopefully that puts him off forcing himself onto women for awhile. Long enough for her to do something about it.

It’s after the conversation with Luka that she decides to finally act on it. On her search for one of the lords or ladies of the Vale, but mainly Lord Royce, she runs into Lord Baelish. As they are in public, she has to keep her cover, but right now she wishes to turn in the opposite direction and run from his presence. 

With a joyful mask on, she calls out, “Lord Father!” Before turning her face into one of regret and sympathy, “I’m very sorry for the lost of Lady Arryn. I know that you loved her dearly.” The spiteful part of her can’t help but take a dig at him for his lies.

Replying with a smile, Lord Baelish draws her into a hug, “Thank you Alayne. I mourn her so very much.” Pulling back, he turns into the direction she was going, offering his arm for her to take.

In his hoarse-like voice, he asks, “I understand that you were growing close to her as well. You must be upset.”

Nodding solemnly, she takes his arm, following his meander down the hall. Inwardly she is cursing at not being able to talk to Lord Royce now. “Of course, Father. She was kind to me when she didn’t need to be.”

“And how is Robyn? Have you seen him this morning?”

Head shaking, “I’m afraid not. He doesn’t want any visitors, so I will try to see him tomorrow.”

“Very kind of you, my dear.” He gives her arm a pat, before taking them into his solar. Shutting a door, he turns to her. His eyes hold this calculating curiosity, and dread fills her. She knows exactly what he is going to ask, but there is also to possibility that he knows about her talk with Lord Royce. Keeping her face open, but not obvious, she awaits his question. 

“Sansa. I never _knew_ you to wield a blade.” There is no question in his words. A statement. Sure of his words and knowledge the she would give him what he wanted to know. So giving him an unsure, guilty smile, she wrung her hands, looking down.

“Only for protection, Lord Baelish.” Sansa murmurs.

“Call me Petyr, Sansa.” He reminds her. Reminding her of the kiss he forced on her the other day. The disgust building in her throat is swallowed down as she demurs,

“Petyr...”

His smile is slimy, snake-ish in his cunning features, and she holds back a shudder of revulsion.

“So where did you get such a weapon. _Certainly_ not whilst in King’s Landing.”

She had a whole day and night to come up with a convincing lie, and hopes he can not see through it when she admits, “My handmaid, Shae. She procured me one. I don’t know where from, I promise. I just carry it in my dress pocket.” Best to redirect his attention, making him think she only has one. Besides, the leather holster on her ankle would be harder to explain, and if by some terrible circumstance he manages to get that far, she would be stabbing him before he would be able to ask.

“Hmm. Smart.” He hums, a look of interest in his eyes. But, she spots with pride, a hint of wariness in them too.

A curtsey, she shyly smiles, “Thank you, Petyr.”

There is a pause, before he wonders out loud, though it’s more for show than absentmindedly. She hates this false pretence they put on. Not for the first time does she wish for the honest talks between her and Cor. “Have you used it since acquiring it?”

Shaking her head, she answers truthfully. “No, my Lord.”

When she later escapes their conversation, Sansa breaths a silently sigh of relief. He didn’t ask her about what she was telling Aunt Lysa before he arrived, and she is sure it’s because of one of two reasons. Either he didn’t hear any of it. _Or_ , he is saving that for a later conversation. Inwardly she prays it’s the first reason, and decides that she will retire to her room that evening, having had dinner with Petyr just before leaving. Finding Lord Royce will be a task for tomorrow.

Lately, with the knowledge that she appears in the clothes she wears, Sansa has taken to wearing her robe over the top of her shift when going to bed, not particularly wanting to wear a corset. It’s not that she can’t breath, it’s more of the fact that it’s just plain hard to get comfortable in it when lying down. She tried to the first few times, even though she didn’t appear before Cor whilst wearing them. So instead went for the more comfortable option of a rope she can tie around her self, protecting her modesty.

Combing her hair out, and deciding not to braid it tonight, Sansa buries herself under the covers with a sigh, and shuts her eyelids.

The world around her is dimly lit, not like the nighttime in the forest from the second meeting. No, it’s daylight, but the strange, ruinous cavern she stands in is dark, a smell of rot hanging in the air around her ominously. Choking at the stench, her hand flies up to her face, covering her nose with the sleeve of her rope. As she takes a further look around, eyes adjusting to the dark, Sansa stumbles back, gasping in horror. From curved stone pillars, bodies hang, as well as more scattered around the ground. Hundreds of swords stand in the ground, blades piercing the dirt and gathering rust and dust.

The sound of clashing of blades startles her from the terror of her surroundings and she creeps further into the cavern, knowing that Cor must be nearby. Trying to look where she is stepping, but not close enough to truly look at the corpses she steps over, she spots the fighters.

The first one is the most notable one, seeing as he is the size of a giant. Larger than even The Mountain is. A colossal being in a red cape and a silver mask, faintly glinting with any light that catches the metal with every move. Two long braids come down on either side of it’s head, and there is a golden glow coming from the eye holes of the mask. A large broadsword is held aloft, and coming down onto the other person.

_It’s Cor._ Who is tall in his own right, but so small facing off with this giant. His blade comes up and crashes into the broadsword, having to use both hands, one on the hilt, the other on the actual blade to stop the attack. Managing to push off and roll away, Cor lunges.

If she thought that his fight with the daemon was amazing, this was like a clash of legends, like in a story. He is quick, fierce, _viciously_ going in with sweeping slashes before retreating in an equally fast motion. The giant, despite it’s large size is just as fast. And that terrifies her.

When Cor manages to land a fatal hit, cutting off one of the giant’s arm, Sansa could almost cheer with pride, but her eyes widen with terror as the giant lifts up it’s leg and kicks Cor. Sending him flying into the air with massive strength and hitting a boulder, causing Sansa to flinch at the impact. The giant stalks towards him, blade rising to land a killing blow, and she reacts.

Without thinking, her legs begin to move, holding her skirt up in one hand for easier movement. She races across the battlefield, pumping her legs as fast as she can, paying the scattered corpses no mind this time, stepping on them if she needs to. Anything to reach Cor. She’s watched the death of too many loved ones to lose another. Lost too much to lose _Him_ as well.

The giant notices her just as she comes to a fall by Cor’s side. Her knees skid in the dirt, her body falling over Cor’s chest, protecting him from the blow. Though she hears the shocked, chocked cry of her name, Sansa just squeezes her eyes tight, holding him close, waiting for pain.

She waits and waits. But nothing comes. All he hears is Cor’s desperately beating heart. Feel the movement of his panting chest. Slowly, her eyes crack open. Keeping his body covered by hers, she turns her head to the giant, wondering why it’s stopped. She is met with a blade, inches from her nose, metal glinting.

There is no wavering from the giant, it’s blade unshakable, held in the air. Panting heavily, she meets the golden eyes, terrified but unwavering.

“ _You will not harm him_.” She commands. Cor is stunned under her, his hands coming up to grasp her shoulder weakly.

“And _who are you_ to decide that. This boy willing entered my territory to fight.” It’s-His? Voice is a deep echo, rumbling like a thunderstorm throughout the cavern and ruins. Tilting her chin up in defiance, she meets his anger head on. 

“And I will take full responsibility of him.”

“And who are you.” He questions. No. _Demands_.

This time she straightens, kneeling up right, the blade touching her chest as she declares with all the authority in her blood.

“ _I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell_. My brother was _King in the North_ , and I will be it’s Queen. And this boy is _mine_.” Standing up, legs strong, she grasps the knife from her holster and holds it up in defence. Pointing it directly at him, the giant’s blade follows her up, keeping it on her chest, over her heart. Steadfast and unflinching, she stares stubborn into the blazing, golden eyes.

“ _And you will not harm him_.”

Their stare off lasts long enough for Cor to gather himself and start trying to push her behind him. In normal circumstances, he would be strong enough to do so, but having exhausted himself with the battle, and Sansa being completely unmoving in the force of his actions, he goes for the next best thing.

Shoving the giant’s blade away with his shoulder, he moves bodily in front of her, protecting her from harm.

The giant allows the blade to move away before he stabs it into the ground. All the while, his gaze does not leave the two stubborn teens in his way.

“You have the Blood of Kings in you, child.” Voice rumbling again, but there is no anger held in it. He steps a foot closer, Cor tensing, ready to attack or defend if necessary. However, instead the giant just comes down on one knee, better to meet their gazes head on. This close she can make out that his mask has the design and features of a solemn face.

Sansa nods firmly. “The Starks were the Kings of Winter _long_ before the the seven kingdoms were conquered. We held the throne for _eight thousand years,_ before Torrhen Stark knelt to preserve the lives of his people.”

“So you are not a queen then.” He stated.

Fists clenching in anger and determination, she steps around Cor, jerking away from his grasp, to come to stand by his side. “ _My father_ was _murdered_ under false accusations, and _my brother Robb_ raised his banners, and was declared King in the North. Declaring it an independent kingdom once again. _I intend to keep it that way._ ” She vows.

“And this boy you declare as yours?”

“Cor Leonis is _mine_. We are connected over worlds and I _will not_ have him killed.” She confirms with a steady nod.

At her declaration, he turns to Cor, piercing him with a heavy stare.

“You can not be divided between two monarchs. A Shield is _loyal_ to _one_ , and _one only_.” The rumbling voice rolls against the cavern walls, and there is a deadly promise, a threat, held in the giant’s words. Swallowing hard, Cor meets the golden eyes, unbending.

“I first started my journey here to redeem myself in the eyes of King Regis of Lucis. I was purposeless, _discarded_.” Not looking away, he reaches out and grabs her hand, grip firm. Looking at him, Sansa sees the stubborn tilt of his chin, the determined eyes, blazing and strong, as he continues.

“Sansa has given me a new purpose. And I declare my _loyalty_ to her and _only her_. _I am not divided_.”

“Even though you are of two different worlds?”

A heavy nod. “Even then.”

“Very well.” He takes the hilt of his blade and pulls it from the ground, dirt crunching under the motion. Sansa and Cor tense, the boy automatically pushing her behind him, readying his sword. But instead of resuming the fight, he sheaths it over his back, standing up as he does.

“Cor Leonis. You have much to learn before you declare yourself Queen Sansa’s Shield. Though you have potential and spirit, I will give you that. But you will need to prepare.” He turns a look upon Sansa, and intones,

“There is much to come in your world. Dark magic blows south, and the Long Winter is coming. You will need a Shield of true strength to defeat it.” And with that, he turns and strides futher into the dark cavern, disappearing from sight.

Silence enshrouds them for a solid three seconds before Cor turns to her, furious, and demands, “ _What the fuck were you thinking!?_ ”

“ _I just reacted_! I wasn’t going to let you _die_!” She defends herself, indignant at his anger.

Narrowing his eyes, he hisses, “This _isn’t_ a battle you can interrupt! It is to the _death or victory._ ”

Scoffing, “All battles are to the ‘ _death or victory’_. That’s how they work.” She says snidely, rolling her eyes. He doesn’t take her sarcasm well.

Growling out, “ _No_! Gilgamesh is a _god_! A minor deity, and when you fight him you enter a _sacred battle._ ”

“ _A god!?_ Why were you _fighting a god_!” She shrieks in shock and disbelief.

“I need to _prove_ myself!”

Aghast at his gall, rage overflowing her, she narrows her eyes. Fists tight, Sansa leans into his face, pouring out her fury, “‘ _Prove yourself’!?_ _Oh_ _well_ _then, very well, be my guest!_ Go _on_ , a fight a _literal god_! I’m sure that will _certainly_ prove something.”

He scoffs, leaning away, obviously done with their argument. “ _You don’t understand!_ ” However, she isn’t ready to let it go.

“Then _tell_ me Cor!” She demands, “What am I _not_ understanding, _hm_? What am I _missing_? Cause what I see is _my only friend_ risking himself, his _life_ , to fight a god for some _stupid pride._ ”

“‘ _Pride_ ’!?” Yelling, offended.

“Your pride is not _worth_ your life! _Neither_ is your honour! _Or duty!_ Or whatever _stupid_ notion you have in your head! Because right now, I’m looking at you, and _all_ I can see is my father _dying_ for his honour. My brother _dying_ because he forsook his duty, putting his pride first. And I will _not_ have you dying like them! I can’t have _another_ person dying on me! I _can’t_.” By the end of her speech she is a blubbering mess, chest heaving from yelling and now she is sobbing out tears in frustration and fear. Cor stares in shock at her reaction, and quickly pulls her into a hug.

“Oh _fuck_ , Sansa...” He murmurs with regret. She gives a weak punch to his chest, but allows him to hold her.

“‘ _Oh fuck_ ’ is right, you _absolute_ bastard! How _dare_ you try to die on me!” Clinging to his dirty jacket, she bawls her heart out as he rocks her back and forth. Petting her head, he leans his on against her shoulder, and shudders.

She doesn’t know what he is thinking, but by the way he clings tightly to her, he must be desperate for comfort as much as she is. So she tightens her hold, and it’s almost painful, but it’s _perfect_. It lets her know he is _alive_ , and _here_. And that’s what counts.

Muffled, but she can still hear it with how close they are, he confesses, “Before you, I was coming here to _die_.” Biting her lip, Sansa holds back her cry of disbelief, knowing he has more to say.

“I thought I was nothing without Regis. I thought I had no purpose in life. I believed that if I came here, to the Tempering Grounds, I would either live and _prove_ myself to Regis that I was _good enough_ to come back. Or. I would die in battle. _I’m a soldier_. That’s the _only_ true way for us to die an _honourable death._ ” He chokes out a sob and buries himself in her hair and shoulder.

“You do not need to fight a god to prove your worth, Cor.” Pulling back, she captures his face in her hands, looking him dead in the eye. “Cor Leonis. _Hear to me now and hear me well._ You _may_ have be _banished_ by those you _trusted_. You may no longer hold your position as his _soldier_. But _you are mine._ And _nothing_ of mine is ever _worthless_ and _discarded_. _I will be by your side,_ just as _you_ will be by _mine_. To me, you are _good enough_. And it _pains_ _me_ to _hear you talk about yourself like you are nothing!_ ”

Breathless from her declaration, she leans her forehead against his, looking into his sad, but hopeful grey-blue eyes. “You have given my _strength_ back. I though it was lost _forever_ , but you have _shown me that I didn’t lose it._ It was just hidden from me. You have given me _friendship_ when I was _friendless_ , surrounded by _strangers_ and _enemies_. And _lastly_ , you have _given me a future I look forward to_. For so long, I _dreaded_ the next day, the next morning. What new terrors and lies would be waiting for me. But with the knowledge that you will be _by my side,_ _I don’t feel so scared_.”

Leaning up on her toes, she presses a gentle, lingering kiss on his forehead, and stares back into stunned, tearful eyes. “ _I feel brave_ , my lion-hearted boy. _So brave._ ”

“ _Sansa_ -“ He chokes out, unable to form words to respond. Completely speechless. She gives him a soft smile.

“Don’t you have training to get to? I need a strong Shield, _you know?_ ” Lightly teasing him, trying to give the moment a bit more light-heartedness. He gives her a wet laughter, and she can feel her heart jerk at the sound of it. The joy and relief on his face, in his smile. _He is beautiful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was the scene that i’ve been wanting to write since I first thought of this story idea. And damn! I’m proud of it. Honestly, I’ve got nothing much more to say except that soon, they will be having actual conversations, instead of needing to constantly be thrust into some sort of ordeal. 
> 
> Also! Gilgamesh has been introduced! I will, like with a lot of the canon lore from FFXV, be taking a lot of creative liberty on. 
> 
> until next time!


	7. A women’s courage, a shield’s magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trial, a party, and world building

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof this was a long one. Enjoy!

In the large chamber, containing the moondoor and the seat at which the Lord of the Vale sits, the people of the Eyrie have gathered to watch as the trial for Marillion takes place. Robyn sits on the throne, with Petyr and Lord Royce standing on either side of him. There is a large crowd murmuring in interest and curiosity, ready to see what happens. Sansa stands in the middle of the crowd, waiting for the trial to proceed with nerves ablaze in anticipation.   


Clearing his throat, the people quieting at the noise, Lord Royce looks down at the chained singer, kneeling in front of the moondoor. “We have called this trial today for the crimes committed by Marillion. Marillion. You have been found guilty of rape on multiple accounts. How do you answer this charge?”

Licking his lips nervously, he calls back, voice cracking, “N-not guilty, my Lords.”

“Bring in the witnesses.” Commands Lord Royce after a second of staring down the man, a look of distaste across his features.

The large doors creak open, and one by one, maids, servants, and minor ladies come through. Some nervous, some with strength held in their shoulders, and some whose faces are blank. One by one, they give their story. Each no different than the last, but all with their own narrative. Some women break down in the middle of their stories, crying at the pain they’ve gone through. And each time, Sansa or another woman closer, would come over to comfort, or to give strength when their’s is faltering.

After the women have told their stories, and been heard, Luka steps forward. It’s around this time the crowd is muttering in disgust at the things the singer has done. The guard gives his account of over-hearing the women talk about their assaults. On one account, he even came across a girl lying on the ground in a deserted hallway, minutes after her rape. Said that the girl was only 12, and visiting her mother who worked in the kitchens. After gathering the girl up, bringing her to her mother, the mother said that they can’t tell the Late Lady Arryn, for she favours the singer.

And finally. Sansa steps forward. There are louder murmurs in the crowd, not having expected the daughter of Lord Baelish to have been accosted. Steeled shoulders, chin held high, she tells how on her way back to her bed chambers, the night of the wedding, Marillion had forced himself on her, heavily drunk. She had fainted from both the exhaustion she was feeling that day, and from the fear of being raped. When she awoke, she was in her room, safe.

The knight who found her, an elder man named Macel, said that he found her lying on the ground in the hallway, though ruffled, there seemed no harm permanently done to her. Macel had carried her back to her room and guarded until she was safe.

Sansa says that she was lucky that it didn’t go as far for most of the women, but assault was assault. And it was at this point that the whimpering Marillion starts to shriek, disputing her story.

“ _NO_! That not what happened! She disappeared! One minute there, the next gone! She’s a _witch_! _A sorceress!_ ”

There is tittering in the court as they all whisper to each other about him being so drunk he couldn’t see when Sansa fainted in front of him.

“Is that a confession?” Lord Royce rumbles, silencing the singer’s mad ravings and the courts murmurs.

Gulping, Marillion realises what he said, and tries to lie, “I-I- n-no, m-m-my lo-o-ord.” He is a stuttering and sweating mess, and Sansa takes vicious pleasure in it. 

Ignoring the blubbering man, Lord Royce turns to Petyr, “Lord Baelish. How do you find him?”

“Guilty.”

Turning to Robyn, “Lord Robyn, how do you find him?”

“ _Guilty!_ Make him fly! _Make him fly!_ ” He jumps up from his seat, cheering.

For once, Sansa finds his enthusiasm to push someone out the door amusing. Lord Royce speaks over the murmuring of the people and the loud cries from Marillion, voice echoing through out the chamber.

“Marillion. For the assault and rape of women and children of the Eyrie, we the court, in the name of the old gods and the new, find you guilty and sentence you to the moondoor.”

“NO! _NO PLEASE!_ ” He screams and struggles with desperation as both Luka and Macel grab him by the arms, and drag him to the moondoor. And just like with Aunt Lysa, he is pushed. But with his flailing he breaks his hand on the ledge as he falls. The sickening crack is overtaken by the man’s cries.

His screams of pain and fear echo all the way down, until all that the silent court hear is just the howling of the wind below. It’s in this silence that the cries and cheers of the women resound throughout the chamber. They are hugging and crying, and more than one come up to Sansa, thanking her profusely. She herself is grinning, tears of joy and relief budding in her eyes.

‘ _This is justice she thinks._ ’ Looking at the pure happiness written over all the women’s faces. How even the ones who came in stoned face, are openly weeping from the death of their rapist, thanking the gods. ‘ _These are the emotions I want to inspire in my people. They deserve to be heard_.’

The satisfaction that she feels curling in her gut and chest, Petyr can’t diminish it when he comes to her side. She is _too happy_ , _too elated_ , to care in this moment. She just looks him in the eye, and says with pride, “This is what should happen to those who _force_ themselves onto another.” And just as she hoped, he caught onto the double meaning of her words. ‘ _Touch me again, and that will be you._ ’ He just gives her a nod, wary eyes and uneasy smile, though hidden she can see it plain as day, and moves on from the crowd of celebrating females.

She rallied the women after having her chat with Lord Royce two days ago. Coming to him with the knowledge of what was done to her, and what Luka had said, Lord Royce believed her but said she needed more proof. She was furious that her words weren’t enough. He said she needed five more witnesses or victims to announce Marillion guilty. _Sansa gave him 57_.

There were more, but they were to ashamed to come forward. Sansa did not force them however, just asked them to be there at the trial so they can witness their attacker’s death, knowing that they are safe from him now. Not all the women had to speak either, but when she came to Lord Royce with the names of the women willing to speak, she asked that all should speak. All should be heard. Even after they got all the evidence needed, the women needed this. He agreed, willing to help those he, in his ignorance, had forsook. 

One of the women, a girl her age, with dark hair and hazel, sparkling eyes, comes up to her. Taking her hands, the girl, Lyn, says, “Alayne! In the dinner hall tonight there is going to be a _feast_! _You must come!_ ” Her enthusiasm was contagious, and soon Sansa was grinning and bouncing on her toes as well.

“A _feast_! When was this planned?” She asks, with Lyn crowing in delight.

“ _Just now!_ A few of the women are cooks, and said they would prepare it, obviously with some help. And Mya just asked Lord Royce if they had permission! _And we do!_ Oh _please_ say you will come! _Please!_ ” She’s begging, drawing out her ‘ _please’s_. Sansa throws her head back laughter, and soon enough there were a few other girls begging for her to come. How could she say no?

It’s as she leaves the hall, tugged along by Lyn, Mya, and Ellina, that she spots him standing in the shadows. Standing in all black, sword on his hip, Cor leans against the back wall of the moondoor room. The pride in his smile and in his eyes, has her grinning back in tandem. With a wave, he disappears like smoke.

That evening Sansa pulls on a lovely, light blue dress with white and grey embroidered flowers around the hem and neckline. Sleeves tight and coming to her elbows, she had run out of fabric and was unable to make the usual trailing sleeves. But it was comfortable, pretty, and perfect for a feast. As she was tying her hair back into a crown braid, Sansa notes that her red hair is starting to show again. She will have to either re-dye the hair, or let the brown fade out.

As she begins to leave, she spots the small vase on her vanity, wildflowers and posies sticking out. They were a gift from one of the maids, having placed it sometime today in thanks. Taking a few out, she snips the stems and threads the flowers through her braids.

Twisting and turning in her mirror, admiring her look, she deems herself ready and leaves her room. And outside waiting for Sansa, is Luka. With a teasing smile, she threads her hand through his offered arm and says, “Why do we keep meeting like this? I would almost call you an admirer, _Ser_.”

“A-ah no, m’lady! I was just-“ He’s a stutter mess and she gives a giggle. “I’m only teasing Luka. It’s very kind of you to escort me.”

Itching his neck, flattered, he responds, “Well, a few of the men, when they learnt what was going on, they decided to offer themselves as protection for the women tonight. So that you can enjoy the feast. And so that the women can get to and from the hall safely as well.” There is a blush on his face, and now that it isn’t hidden by a helmet, she can see his shaggy light brown hair, and his darker skin complexion.

“And, if I may be bold, m’lady. You _are_ very beautiful. But there is already someone I’m wishing to court.” He admits sheepishly.

“ _Oh?_ ” Sansa asks in interest, a sly smile drawing across her face. His face flushes even more, and he says no more on the matter, no matter how much she cajoles. He is a vibrant red by the time they reach the hall and she peels herself away from him, watching as he breathes a sigh of relief, scurrying away.

A chuckle meets her ears, and Sansa turns, seeing an amused Mya standing behind her. “What did you say to poor Luka? He looks as if he is a rabbit running from a wolf!” Hearing the irony in the words, Sansa can’t help the burst of laughter that she releases at Mya’s words, the older girl joining in, both girls soon cackling with each other.

The night is filled with song and dance. Delicious foods and faces filled with joy. Mya and Lyn have declared her their main dance partner, despite being two of them, and so they compromise. Holding hands in a circle, the girls spin and spin around the hall, breathless giggles shared between them. She talks with many other women in between dances, learning more about their lives than just the instances of abuse. She is filled with stories and tales more wonderful and inspiring than the ones told as a child. Real, and, filled with more life than the songs. As the evening comes to an end, Ellina pulls her up onto one of the long tables, and Sansa is blushing as the heavily drunk and giggly women chant below her, “ **SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH!** ”

“ _ALRIGHT_!” She yells over the screams, laughing at the uproarious cheers. A goblet of wine is shoved into her hand, sloshing over her fingers, and she holds it up, waiting for quiet.

“My ladies! Today you have been _heard_! Today you have _not been silenced!_ ” Screams of agreement and approval meet her, before they settle down again. “And I’ve heard _your tales_ , and _your lives!_ You are _all_ more than just the _abuse you have suffered_. What happened was a tragedy to each and everyone of you, and it was never any of your faults. That was a _choice_ _made by a man_ who _decided_ that _he could take what he wanted_. _BUT HE WAS WRONG!_ ” She roars with wild intensity, “ _HE DID NOT TAKE YOUR **VOICE!** HE DID NOT MAKE YOU **SILENT!** **YOU’VE SPOKEN** AND **I’VE HEARD YOU!** YOU ARE **STRONG** AND YOU WILL **LIVE!**_ ” By the end of her speech her voice is hoarse with her howls of inspiration and there are fierce tear running down her face by the end of it. Many of the women are also crying out their approval of her words through tears of their own. 

She throws back her wine, the rest following after her and then jumps down from the table. Arms and hands come around her, holding her close, just as Sansa embraces them equally fierce. She soaks in the support and love from all these women and girls who have been tormented like her. Letting their love wash over her, and in that moment, she _isn’t_ alone in her battle.

Afterwards it’s a bit of a blur, tipsy from the alcohol. At one point, Mya, Lyn, and Ellina had dragged her into a corner of the room and they talk and gossip the night away.

But what does stick out is a conversation that they have in hushed whispers, serious and steady despite the wine. Lyn offhandedly mentions how creepy Petyr is, before Mya shushes her, gesturing to Sansa with a pointed look. The girl tries to apologise but Sansa cuts her off.

“No Lyn. You’re right.”

Concerned, Ellina places a gentle hand on her arm. “He doesn’t, _you know_ , touch you, right? I knew a girl, Sara, talk about how her own father touched her before she finally escaped to work here.”

Sansa knows she should automatically say no, deny the accusation, but her hesitation at answering has a thunderous glare rumble across Mya’s face. “That _rat_!” She spits. “I will kill him with my _bare hands!_ ” The older girl goes to storm out the room, presumably to find Lord Baelish and commit murder, but the three other girls drag her back into their corner, and Sansa blurts out,

“ _He isn’t my father._ ”

They freeze, looking at her confused and shocked. Worrying her lip, Lyn says quietly, “ _Even still_ , Alayne. If he is _hurting_ you-“

“No! It’s-it’s _complicated_.”

“Then uncomplicate it.” Ellina demands, face also holding concern. Looking at the three girls troubled expressions, Sansa wonders if she can truly trust them. Any one of them could be spies, could be assassins. But, Sansa looks at their concern, their worry, and rage held in their eyes. And she takes in an unsteady breath, before breathing out, “My name is Sansa Stark. And Lord Baelish helped me escape King’s Landing.” And braces for their reactions.

Staring gobsmacked, it’s Mya who speaks first, blurting out profanity, “ _Oh fuck!_ ” With the other two following behind, reacting at the same time. “ _Gods!_ ”

Ellina tightens her grip on her arm, shaking it a little in disbelief. “Are you _serious_!? _Is she serious!?_ ” The second part was directed at the other two, almost hysterical, Lyn squinting at Sansa’s scared and nervous face. “Think, she _is_.”

“I’ll still kill him for you.” Mya announces, and a hysterical laugh slips out of Sansa’s mouth. The other’s joining in a second later. The palpable relief Sansa feels at how well they took her confession was enormous, and a weight off her shoulders. Knowing that these girls still accept her and, in Mya’s case, wish to kill her her. That kind of loyalty, it makes her heart clench the same way it did when Cor declared his. Slumping onto Lyn’s shoulder, overwhelmed by the dangerous conversation. If this got out, she would be in danger. Sansa closes her eyes for a brief second before opening them again. The girls meet her gaze with a serious expression, and Mya asks, “Does anyone else know?”

A nod. “Lord Royce and a few other lords and ladies. Aunt Lysa did too.”

Mya curses, “Oh _shit_! That’s _right_ your _family_!”

She shakes her head, sad, “I didn’t know her very well. And Lord Baelish had twisted and manipulated her so much she wasn’t much of family anymore. She’s wan’t much of her _own person_ either, I guess.” Ending with a small shrug.

“How _terrible_. I knew Lady Arryn was _unstable_ , but her committing _suicide_. _Just awful_.” Lyn murmurs.Sansa has to bite back the need to tell them the honest truth, but figures it’s best if no one knows Aunt Lysa was actually murdered until Lord Baelish was dealt with. Sansa didn’t want anyone harmed because of her. 

There is a terrible silence held over their group before Mya loudly destroys it. “Alayne! I want to kiss you.”

“ _What!?_ ” Sansa yelps, Lyn and Ellina cackling and not being helpful when she looks to them with baffled looks, hoping for support.

“You’re pretty. I want to kiss you. And I’m asking if I can. What’s confusing?” The older girl tilts her her head, her expression a picture of innocence. Sansa narrows her eyes at that fake expression, before rolling her shoulder back, head tilted high.

“I’ve only been kissed by stupid men. Can you improve me experience then, _bastard?_ ”

Mya throws her head back, roaring with laughter, before looking back at her. “Don’t you know my lady? Us bastard are children of lust.” And then, despite how her hands are large and strong against Sansa’s cheeks, the older girl is gentle when she eases a kiss onto Sansa’s lips. They are soft, and wondrous on her.

Her body is thrumming with a buzz from the wine and excitement of the feast. The other girls hoot and holler around the two, and Sansa feels like her mind has been swept of it’s feet. Though that could be from the alcohol than the mind-blowing kiss. When Mya pulls back, Sansa feels like her legs are jelly and she is breathless.

“How’s _that_ for experience?” Mya asks, smug and proud like a cat. Sansa gives a thoughtful expression, before declaring, “Better than King Joffrey, that’s for sure.”

“You hear that girls!?” She turns to some of the other women, besides Lyn and Ellina, and that’s when Sansa notices other’s were watching. None look disgust, most just faintly amused and laughing.

“ _I kiss better than the king!_ ” Drunken cheers holler throughout the room, and Sansa decides it’s probably time to go to bed.

As she makes her way out, saying goodbyes, Mya catches up with her. “Hey Alayne, I wanted to say that it doesn’t have to mean anything.” The girl, usually so boisterous and cheerful, is solemn.

“What do you mean?”

“The kiss.”

“ _Oh_.” Sansa breaths. She thinks about it for a few seconds, and replies with a calm nonchalance, “I liked it. And, I started to think I liked both girls and boys awhile back, but...” She trails off, thinking about how she was under such tight scrutiny in King’s Landing, and with all the men being old or terrifying, the only person she may have wanted to kiss would’ve been Margaery. Sansa thought about it a time or two, but never acted on that minor infatuation. Besides, she was marrying Joffrey, and Sansa didn’t know how she feels about a girl _willing to marry a monster for a crown_.

Mya nods in understanding. “Yeah. Hard to tell.”

Thoughtfully, Sansa ponders out loud, “I guess I wanted to experience what it would be like to be kissed by someone kind. _Someone who cares._ Even if they are a friend.” At ‘ _friend_ ’ her mind drifts to Cor, and she blushes in embarrassment at the thought. A sly grin stretches across Mya’s face and she leans in.

“You got someone on your mind, don’t you?”

Spluttering, Sansa furiously denies. “W-What!? _No_! _Definitely not!_ ”

“ _Hah!_ Keep your secrets then!” Mya declares. Sansa decides this conversation is over, and she is absolutely ready for bed tonight. Turning away without a reply, she hears Mya call out,

“And if you want a repeat-“

“ _Good night_ , Mya!”

When Cor appeared for a second time in Sansa’s world, he was in a hallway swarming with people all heading in the same direction. Looking around, he is unable to spot the girl, so he shrugs and follows the crowd. They seem to be murmuring about a trial of some sort, and that piques his interest.

He is one of the last people to enter the hall, door closing on what look to be a large group of women, varying ages of maybe 12 to in 20-30’s. Cor’s confused, but turns to face the rest of the chamber. A boy sits high on a large seat, a throne. With the creepy rat man on his right, and a large, greying man in an armoured chest plate on the left. Further towards the centre, below the throne, is a large circular hole in the floor, with a chained man kneeling before it.

‘ _That must be the man on trial._ ’ Cor concludes. Looking around the faces, he spots Sansa in the middle of the room, waiting for the trail to start. A large part of him wishes to join her by his side, but a curious part wants to see how she acts when not around him. See how Sansa goes about her life in her world, wracked with dangerous people. Her posture holds that strength he’s seen in the later visits, than the nervous demeanour from the first few. Lips twitching in pleasure at how confident she’s grown. And satisfaction flutters in his chest with the knowledge that he helped her gain it back.

And then the trial begins. And he has never felt more disgusted by a person in his life. One by one these women and girls step forward to share their abuse, and every time, Cor wants to skewer the man. One stab for each hurt girl. Maybe castration too. It’s a long process, but everyone is no less enraptured and revulsed by the crime hidden under their noses this whole time, as well as the way the Lady Arryn enabling his behaviour.

It’s when Sansa steps forward that he has to really control his temper. He is relieved to know that she wasn’t raped, but molestation is still just as bad. And then when the pitiful man on the ground begins to wail that she is a witch, he lights up with recognition. This was the man Sansa had cried about in the field.

His words that Sansa just disappeared made him contemplate them. Though the other people in the room mutter that the man is drunk, he is probably telling the truth, judging by Sansa’s viciously pleased expression on her face. ‘ _So that mean’s that when we visit one another, we are genuinely actually travelling to each other’s world._ ’ It’s such an impossible thing, and Cor will definitely be consulting with Gilgamesh when he gets back. 

Then Cor winces in displeasure. He disappeared in the middle of a break between spars with the god. “ _Fuck._ ” Cor says, softly but with feeling.

And then comes the man’s, Marillion, execution. The boy on the throne yelling out in a deranged call of ‘ _Make him fly!_ ’ Has Cor paling. Not at the rapist getting what he deserves. But at the fact that the man is bodily picked up and shoved down the hole in the floor. The echoed screaming lets Cor know that it is a very long fall to where ever his body will lay.

‘ _Astrals, these people are brutal._ ’ Cor leans against the wall, watching the celebration take place within the female population. Sansa is receiving many hugs and thank you’s that Cor can’t help but smile in pride. ‘ _She truly inspires people_.’ Cor has no doubt that Sansa was the one to organise this trial, and getting many testimonies to guarantee the man’s punishment.

Narrowing his eye’s slightly, Cor sees the rat man come up to Sansa, and he strains to hear what she said. Over the noise he gets nothing, but reading her lips, he smirks.

Catching her eye as she leaves, his smirk turns back to a smile of pride, to which she grins in return. With a wave, he blinks, and appears back in the Tempering Grounds.

Standing over him is Gilgamesh. And he can’t see the god’s expression, but the irritation is easily read in his posture. With a sheepish expression, he greets, “Hey Gil.”

“How many times have I said to not call me that, Leonis?” His voice is one of long-suffering, which makes it funnier as it echoes through the cavern. Cor shrugs in reply, and starts to take out his sword, ready for another spar.

Gilgamesh however just holds up his hand, making Cor pause in his movement. “We were done today anyways. Physically that is.”

“‘ _Physically_ ’?” The boy parrots back, releasing his grip on the hilt.

“Yes. There are somethings I must tell you about Shield’s and about the world where your monarch lives.”

Blinking a little bewildered, “Oh, alright.” Cor than finds a seat on a rock, gets as comfy as he can on stone, and fixes his rapid attention onto the god.

“Now. When it comes to shields and their monarchs, there is always a connection between the two. It’s instinctual and allows the shield to know when their monarch is in danger.”

“You can just say queen.”

Pausing, “...Queen then.” Then resuming, “Continuing on, there is a magic in that bond-”

“You mean metaphorically?” Cor cuts in, confused.

Huffing in annoyance, Gilgamesh growls out, “No. _Literally_. And _stop_ interrupting!”

“Sorry.” He mutters meekly.

“Now, as I was saying. The instinct between the two can seem unexpected. A _surprise_. The deep desire to protect someone you’ve just met is a startling thing. _Normally_ , Shield’s a raised around their King, so they assume that it’s a natural thing that comes with their upbringing. But there have been times in the past where Shield’s are _not_ raised with that knowledge, having come from outside the usual circle of guards. That is what happened to _you_. The Blood of Kings in Sansa reached out to you as a Potential protector when she lacked one. You responded.”

”I did? When?” Bewildered, he tries to think back when he first tried to protect her. Then he remembers killing the arachnea. He was going to kill it anyways, whether Sansa was there or not. But there was still that need to make sure she wasn’t harmed, defenceless against the monster. “ _Huh_.” 

“Good. You know when it started, and that it wasn’t against your will. This connection never is. Free will of the Shield to give their loyalty is necessary for the connection to work.” Letting him digest that, Gilgamesh moves on.

“Now, onto magic. The bloodline of the Lucis Kingdom hold magic blessed by the Astrals. But what _isn’t_ recognised is that _all_ people have some capacity for magic in them. Like when the soldiers that are able to harness the King’s magic after swearing an oath, some are more adept at it than others. You are _naturally_ adept at magic.”

He jerks his head back a little, startled by that revelation.“ _I am_?”

A firm nod. “Yes.”

“Uh. Cool?” Cor awkwardly replies. It’s an unexpected reveal, and he is still trying to comprehend the knowledge as the god continues.

“Your queen comes from the Blood of Kings. That is a very powerful magic, especially one that is over 8,000 years old. When you swear your oath to her, the magic that was taken back from you by the King, will return. But different. Accessing the pocket dimension that holds your weapons, a magic of the Lucis King’s bloodline, may be something you can do with Sansa’s magic. Or, it could be something different. Magic is different there.”

“Is her magic going to be similar though?” Cor wonders contemplatively. He grew used to being able to summon things from the pocket dimension, and was upset when he could no longer do that. Both because it was exhilarating each time using magic and he really enjoyed it. And because it was _proof at the loss of his King’s trust in him_. It was also a useful use of magic, and he really wished to have it back.

Shaking his head, Gilgamesh explains. “Most likely not. The kings of Lucis are able to control magic of the internal kind, magic that comes directly from them. With the Starks, it’s more of old magic. Magic that used to exist before the line of Lucis Caelum was given magic via the Stone of Bahumut. It’s the magic in the environment around you.” He makes a gesture at the area around them. Though Cor understands the meaning behind the gesture, he has to hide his snort at the fact that the god is also motioning to the many corpses lying around. ‘ _Definitely need to deal with those at some point_.’

Gilgamesh continues to intone, voice holding a weight of power behind it. “The earth. The sea and sky. The weather. In the animals and intentions of people. Very _ancient_ , and very _powerful_ magic. That is what magic exists in the North. And Sansa Stark is adept in it, whether she knows it or not.”

“ _Really?_ ” This was interesting knowledge, and he was practically leaning forward off the rock, eager to know more. That there was magic outside of the Kings and the Oracle. That ordinary people could have magic. And the old magic that exists in Sansa’s world, that was _fascinating_.

When Gilgamesh speaks, there is a tone of wonder in his rumbling voice. “Yes. _Empathy_. Her ability to _understand_ and _sympathise_. To rally the people, to give them _hope_ and _courage_. Being able to influence other in a way that inspires loyalty is a very powerful thing. Sometimes more _powerful_ than the usage of elemental magics. Yes, there are some who can do that with out magic, but with the inherent magic in her blood, it’s _stronger_.”

Cor is enraptured by the god’s words, even as the Gilgamesh sighs, a mixture of mournful and disappointment. “Unfortunately, it can only work so far. The old gods reside in the North, and the further away she is from it, the harder it is for her empathy to work.”

“ _Furthermore_ , the ancestral seat of the Starks, Winterfell, has magic built into the very stones of it’s walls. There is a phrase their family speaks. ‘ _There must always be a Stark in Winterfell._ ’ That is because of the magic connected to the family’s blood, allowing a barrier of protection for all who live behind it’s walls.”

Frowning, Cor shifts uneasily in his seat, “I sense a ‘ _but_ ’.”

A sigh comes through the mask again, a weirdly muffled sound, “ _But_ , there are no Starks in Winterfell now. The magic is fading, and Sansa _must_ get there as soon as she can and reactivate it. Winterfell needs to hold in the Long Night to come. Or else the North, and the other six kingdoms will _fall_.”

“What is the ‘ _Long Night’_?”

“A winter that lasts _years_. And coming with the first blows of the storm, is the _Undead_.”

Sitting up straighter in shock, he can’t hold back the yell, “ _What!?_ ”

“Once before, these creatures where pushed back behind the Wall. And once again they must be defeated. _But this time_ , the Night King _must_ die. He was only _wounded_ last time. Now, he has time to gather his army, and soon the dead march South of the Wall.”

Rubbing at his chin in thought, Cor mentions, whilst his thoughts are going a mile a minute with all this new information, “You should be telling Sansa this as well.”

“I plan to the next time she visits.” Gilgamesh confirms.

Nodding, satisfied with that answer, he responds bluntly, “Good. Because I have no idea on how the _fuck_ to explain all that to her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, hear me out. Sansa is bi. And the kiss between her and Mya was Sansa exploring more of her sexuality in a safe environment. Also she is kinda drunk, so some critical thinking is missing. A group of just women is a wild thing, shit can get weird and emotional. So that party was something that was spur of the moment, but I felt was well deserved. Especially for the women who have been silenced. This is the start of the #metoo movement, westeros style.   
> But back to Sansa and Mya, don’t worry this is still a SanCor story. but right now it’s a tiny crush that they have for one another, and it’s more friendship that they feel right now. Let Sansa have her fun and explore what she likes. it’s like Margaery said, barely any woman gets a chance before they are old and grey. A this is that. 
> 
> And the world building of magic is my own fanon lore that i believe. Old, deep magic, almost could be pagan realated is my favourite kind of magic. And that it’s not just two royal families in the FFXV universe that have all the magic. Fuck the Astrals! 
> 
> Also i made a SanCor playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/32M79mhHDSyURHdAGBaLaU?si=V9S0dURxT82yLC1IdqHZEQ
> 
> Until next time!


	8. Long talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House cleaning, magic talks, and exposition. Also a segue into consent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Talks of rape, but no actual description of the act.  
> Take a shot anytime they talk about the dead, a dead body, or something dying.

The next time Sansa appears, Cor had been sent on a run to the nearest town. After a week and a half of staying in the Tempering Grounds, he had run out of food and desperately needed a break from sitting and sleeping next to dead people. It isn’t doing good for his mental health to wake up and step on bones when he needs to take a piss. (The first time definitely scarred him for life. Half asleep, he stumbles out of his tent, unzips and begins to relieve himself. As he comes to finishing, he blearily looks down and shrieks at the mangled, rotting head at his feet.)

The only good part is that there is a river nearby, thankfully no dead bodies contaminating it. He was able to stay clean and hydrated, which was definitely needed with the amount of exercise and activity the god was throwing at him.

As he was getting ready to leave to the town, about an hour’s walk away, (Which was interesting that there was a settlement so close to this place, but according to Gilgamesh, they worship him as their god for protection from war. Apparently he actually does protect them if the fact that the war with Neifleheim had barely touched the town. Only skirmishes on the out parts, which were quickly snuffed out by the god’s interference.) Cor finally decided that him and the god needed to _talk_.

“Okay, can you _please_ deal with the bodies while I’m gone?” He asked, arms folded as he stares up into the god’s gold eyes. It’s a simple request, but _unfortunately,_ when it comes to social interaction that _isn’t_ fighting to the death or giving omniscient knowledge about the world, he fails to grasp it.

“‘ _The bodies’_?” The god asks cluelessly. It would be adorable the way he tilts his head in confusion, but...

“...Yes. The dead bodies lying around your front yard. Like, the corpse you are _literally_ standing next to.” He gestures at the glaringly obvious headless body on his left. The god looks down at it, staring for a few seconds, before looking back up slowly.

“I don’t see the problem.”

Throwing his hands up in frustration, he growls out, “It’s _disgusting_. The smell alone is terrible, never mind the grossness of it all.”

“I can’t smell.” He shrugs.

Cor stares at the god, mouth flat and pure disbelief rolling off his posture. Arms held up slightly, hands in the gesture of ‘ _are you fucking kidding me?_ ’ Blinking wildly a few times, he enunciates, completely deadpanned, 

“ _Are you mentally deficient?_ ”

Bewildered and a little bit offended, the god inquired, “ _Excuse_ me?”

Smacking his hands to his face, he drags them down, groaning in helpless frustration, “Like, do you not _comprehend_ that you are _literally sleeping_ a few feet away from what is basically a grave yard.”

“I don’t sleep.” The god replies, oblivious to the situation.

“I can’t believe you live like this.” Cor says with absolute truth, tone deceitfully mild. They continue holding each other’s gaze. Cor practically done with this conversation, and Gilgamesh is just plain _lost_.

Shuffling his feet, looking like an awkward school boy in trouble, the god explains, “They are my offerings. The men died in the battle, so I keep their bodies as offerings from their sacrifice.” That doesn’t help the situation at all.

Cor explodes, “ _Doesn’t mean you have to leave them lying around_!” Then points viciously at one of the many dangling bodies, “Or, _Hell_ , have them _hanging_ from pillars like some _macabre party decorations for daemons!_ ”

“... _hey_..” Gilgamesh protests weakly.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he exhales loud. “ _Look_ , Sansa is going to visit at some point. And I don’t _particularly_ like the fact that she will be hanging around a rotting battlefield of _moronic soldiers who tried to fight a god_.”

“ _You_ tried to fight me.” The god pointed out helpfully. Or, unhelpfully for Cor.

Rolling his eyes, Cor reminds him, “Yes, _but_ , you already told me you would’ve let me live _even if_ Sansa didn’t interfere, so that’s besides the point.”

The god looks around, uncertain and a little helplessly, “...I could, put them somewhere else?”

“Not burn them or bury them?” The boy snarked back.

“Their bodies need to be somewhat intact to be used as my army.”

“... _your what_.”

“Army. I can summon their spirits to fight for me at my command.”

Closing his eyes, he begs for patience before turning around to leave. “...I’m going into town. And when I get back, they better be hidden in your backyard then strewn about in your front.”

But it’s as he takes the first few steps forward, he pauses in his tracks. Turning back awkwardly to the god who started to pick up a torso, Cor sheepishly admits , “I have no money.”

Cocking his head to the side, the god looks around the Tempering Grounds, and then gives Cor a pointed look. Confused, the boy follows his gaze around before finally realising with tired sigh what the god is suggesting.

Pointing at the god, he grouses, “Don’t you _dare_ tell Sansa, you sick bastard.” Before crouching down by the nearest body, and begins to rummage through it’s pockets for change. He resolutely ignores the amused air coming off the god as he starts to clean up the body parts.

On his way back, trudging through the forest with a couple of bags of non-perishable food, he feels a minor tug in his chest towards the direction of the Tempering Grounds. Like a rope wrapped around him, insistently pulling. Frowning, rubbing at his chest, he picks up the pace.

Upon reaching the grounds, he sees Sansa. She is sat on a large rock, tall enough that she is at eye level with Gilgamesh, and they are talking. The strange tugging sensation fades as soon as he sees her, and he frowns again, considering the sensation.

‘ _Must be the connection that Gil talked about. Some kind of homing device. Letting me know where she is._ ’ It feels a little wrong, like stalking, but he figures it’s a way to make sure she’s safe. As he continues onwards, he notes that Gilgamesh actually cleaned up the bodies, to Cor’s relief.

Looking up at Sansa, delicately poised, sitting on a rock in the middle of a graveyard, Cor smiles. No matter where she is, whether in a trial, or in a battlefield, she holds herself like a queen. He also notes that she is wearing a very fancy looking blue dress, though her hair is in a messy braid. Wondering at what event she might have appeared from, he finally catches her eye.

He will never get over the way her face lights up when she sees him. _Him_. A child soldier with nothing but his sword to his name. And she looks at him like he hung the moon and stars. Pushing down the blush that creeps up his ears, he turns his attention to the god.

“See you finally cleaned up.” He remarks, a little snarky.

Sansa perks up, joining in, “Yes! I did notice that too. Did you hold a funeral for all the fallen soldiers?”

He hesitates. “Yes.” Sansa smiles at the god, oblivious, but Cor squints suspiciously. Gilgamesh holds himself stiffly, and it occurs to Cor that the god is lying. He wonders that if he takes a walk to the other side of the cavern, he will find a pile of tossed bodies. ‘ _Best keep Sansa away from there. Don’t particularly want her turning her wrath onto the god for bad burial practises. Poor Gil wouldn’t know what to do with himself._ ’

Disguising his laughter with a cough, he changes the subject. “So, did you tell the magic shit you told me?”

It’s Sansa who replies, “Oh yes! He told me of the old magic that I’m able to harness, particularly the empathy. Thinking back on it, I did manage to get all those women to confess by just talking to them kindly. But I just assumed that it was because I was polite and encouraging.” She wondered out loud to herself.

Nodding, Gilgamesh elaborates, “It is that and more, Sansa. You naturally draw people to you, like moths to a flame. Yes, you are a kind girl, but it’s amplified by the magic in your blood.”

Humming in thought, the girls asks. “What about sewing?”

The other two look at her confused, with Gilgamesh responding, “I beg your pardon?”

Repeating herself, Sansa seems to be getting excited, more sure over her thought process, “Sewing? Can you do magic with sewing and embroidery? What about singing and music?” She asks eagerly. Gilgamesh seems to understand what she is talking about, though Cor is still a little lost.

“Yes, there _is_ magic based in intention whilst completing a task. It depends. Do you have an example?” The god asks, needing her to clarify her idea.

Expounding on her thought process, she begins, “I remember that when my mother gave birth to my youngest brother Rickon, it was a difficult brith. Months before, I was working on a blanket for my mother’s bed, wanting to gift her something for her name’s day. _Well_ , on the night the night my brother was born I was allowed to be in the birthing room. I remember my mother was losing blood, a lot of it. And she was growing _so cold_ , that I felt this _instinct_ to put the blanket I made around her shoulders. Within in minutes the bleeding stopped.” Delicate brows furrowed, she pauses, lost in thought. Then she slowly continues.

“When I was making the blanket, I had the running thoughts of wanting her to be kept warm under it. To feel safe. To _be_ safe. I thought the god’s were just being merciful, but when you talked about the old magic, and how it works on intention, I thought. That maybe I used magic then.”

A muffled hum of thought escapes the god’s mask, and he stares interest at Sansa. Nodding, he confirms her theory.

“I think you most certainly did. It’s magic that’s based on intent that usually works with creating something or completing a task. I remember learning that healers would sometimes sing as they work on their patients, accelerating their healing process with just their voices. Or when mother’s made clothes for their children with the subconscious intention of keeping their child safe and warm. It’s not that of an uncommon magic. It still happens to day. The phrase, ‘ _Made with love_ ’. It isn’t just an expression. It’s a real, _ancient_ magic.”

Cor’s eyes widen at the examples of old magic, and Sansa isn’t too far behind. Cor is full of wonder, with ideas churning in his mind at all the applications of that magic. Particularly in battle. Forging swords with the intent of never missing their mark? Or armour that could never be pierced. The possibilities are endless!

Sansa interrupts his train of thought, “So I can make things that hold strong intentions?”

“Yes. Though you have been only doing it without knowing. Now with that knowledge, that magic will be strong with true, _conscious_ thought when you make anything.”

Eyes sparking with a new idea, she eagerly asks, “What about healing? I know I’m a good singer and musician. I play the harp quite well too.”

The god shrugs, “That will be something to explore. Of course, Leonis gets injured enough that you could certainly practise on him.”

“ _Hey!_ ” Frowning at Sansa as she laughs at his misfortune. Rolling his eyes, he turns back to the god, “This is all really interesting, but what about the Long Night? Did you tell her that?”

If Cor was shocked by the knowledge, Sansa was even more so, standing up in a panic. “‘ _The Long Night_ ’!?”

“I assume you know it?”

Blinking wildly, recalling her knowledge, she nods numbly, “Of course. We’ve had summer for going on two decades, with only small spells of winter. But the Stark’s words, “ _Winter is Coming,_ ’ is what my father always said about needing to be ready. I assume that the Long Night is coming soon then?”

‘ _Summer for two decades!? That has got to be fucking up harvest growth and the animal population_.’ Cor thinks with bafflement. What kind of world existed with out proper season?

Gilgamesh shakes his head, “Not just that, Sansa. The Others are coming.” He vows, voice solemn.

Sansa stands frozen, eyes far away. Cor begins to climb up to her when she shakes herself out of her daze. With a disbelieving laugh, though it sounds weak, “That’s just a _story_.” She rebukes, but he sees the way she wrings her hands nervously, and knows that she doesn’t believe her own words.

“It’s truth.”

“ _It can’t be!_ ” Yelling with desperation, “The Others are just a bedtime story to scare children into _behaving_! Next you’re going to say Wargs exist too!”

“They do.”

Shaking her head furiously, she continues to deny his words.“No. _No, you’re lying!_ It’s _impossible_. These-they’re just stories that Old Nan would tell. _Myths_! ”

Cocking his head, Gilgamesh responds, voice a deceivingly light in tone, words heavy, “Just as _impossible_ as your _magic_? What about as impossible as you traveling to an _entirely new world?_ Is that all _impossible_? All myths are based in truth, Sansa. _You know this_. Think of your family’s history. Bran the Builder. A wall of ice 700 feet tall. No ordinary man can create that. The Night King was defeated by Brandon the Breaker and Joramun. But not _permanently_. The stories are true, and you _must_ rely on them in the coming Winter.”

Cor’s head is swimming with all this knowledge, unfamiliar and terrifying. Looking at Sansa as she argues with Gilgamesh, the boy’s thoughts are running wild. This girl descends from legends, he thinks with awe and a bit of fear. Who he thought was just a noble girl, is turning out to be almost a legend herself. Watching the conversation between the two, he can see Sansa coming around, finally allowing herself to believe the god’s words.

With a shaky inhale, she says slowly, “But if their real then-“ stopping, with the god finishing her sentence.

“-Then the North is in danger.” He foretells. “Your brother Jon at the wall has seen them.”

‘ _Okay thats three sibling so far,_ ’ Cor considers, filing away this new information on his future queen. ‘ _Robb, Rickon, and Jon. Is that all or are there more? And they are all presumably men, which means_ ,’ he presumes with unease, ‘ _That there may be opposition with her taking the throne. That’s if the world sexist when it comes to rulers._ ’ Cor sighs in annoyance at that future trouble they will have to deal with. He will need to ask Sansa about her family. Both the present ones and her ancestry. 

“ _Jon_!?” She yells, hope and incredulous disbelief in her voice, “Jon has seen them?”

Expanding, the god states, “Currently he is with wildlings, trying to find a way for them to get past the Wall.”

“Why would he be working with _Wildlings_?” The expression of distaste that crosses her face has Cor’s curiosity turning up a couple more notches. He is really not liking being a bystander of this conversation, lost in all this confusing knowledge.

“The Night King has been building his army through the Wildlings. Unless the body is burnt, it can be risen back from the dead, under the Night King’s control. You can cut off limbs, stab, or crush, and they will still be alive.” Both teens stare at the god in horror. He was told about the undead bit, but the bodies rising no matter the injury? His palms felt sweaty in nerves. Getting ready to fight MT’s on the battlefield was less terrifying than the knowledge that he would be facing creatures practically unkillable.

“Is there any thing that can destroy them besides fire?” Cor breaks his silence, and Sansa slightly starts at him speaking, probably forgotten he was there in her shock and disbelief at Gilgamesh and his information. Head turning to him, the god nods.

“Valerian steel, and dragon glass will destroy them.”

“Great,” he smiles weakly, “there is a lot of it right?” Turning to Sansa, tone faintly pleading. His hope is crushed when she shakes her head, biting her lip. “Valerian steel is rare. The only time I’ve seen it is my Father’s sword.” Giving a look for more information, she elaborates. “It’s our ancestral sword, _Ice_. But. When they cut off my father’s head, they took it. I have no idea where it is now.”

“Melted down to form two swords. One was given to Joffrey Lannister, named _Widow’s wail_ , the other is in Brienne of Tarth’s possession, named _Oathkeeper_. It was given to her by Jamie Lannister.” The god responds, his voice becoming far away, as if he is somewhere else. Most likely he is looking into Sansa’s world, scouring the land for the information needed.

Sansa is shaking, and Cor actually goes to her side now, quickly scaling the boulder. Up close she isn’t crying though, she’s trembling with rage. ”They defile _everything_ they touch!” She spits out, and Cor has never seen such disgust, such vitriol in her voice and posture. “They’ve _killed_ my father, going back on their promise of _mercy_. Had allies betray my brother and mother, defiling their bodies dishonourably. Married me to their _imp_ , having myself violated and now. _Now_ I find out, that they have _destroyed_ one of the oldest and most important pieces of _my family’s history_. A historical, ancient relic of the First Men.” Her voice is shaking with pure rage, fists trembling at her side. Her gaze is staring down Gilgamesh, as she condemns the people whoever done her wrong. The god allows are rage, taking it passively. 

Cor on the other hand is _reeling_ at all this horrifying information, but the one that strikes him is of course her being married. “ _You’re married!?_ ” He squawks in shock.

Though it starts her out of her rage momentarily, she manages to regain it. However, it’s more calmed than before. “ _Unfortunately_ , yes, I was in a way. His name is Tyrion Lannister, a dwarf with _pervasive_ and alcoholic tendencies.” Face twisting with revulsion, and there is a startled feeling in Cor’s chest at the sight of Sansa displaying such emotions. He isn’t judging her for them, having good reason for the reactions. But this darker side of a girl who he knows to be kind and gentle with her words, is a staggering feeling.

Continuing on, her voice becomes more blank, more matter-of-fact, “I’m the key to the North for my enemies. Secure me in a family, my children will be heirs to the largest kingdom in Westeros that my husband’s family can control. I would be a _broodmare_ , my only use would be my womb. But fortunately, the imp stopped, and our marriage is unconsummated. Meaning that in the eyes of the god’s we are not truly married.”

Holding up his hand to stop her, he tries to get her to back up on her words, “ _Wait wait wait_. You have to have _sex_ , for your marriage to be _official_?!” Yelling incredulously. this is some medieval bullshit right here. Sansa though doesn’t see the true problem.

“Yes?” More of a question than an answer, her anger is diminishing with the confusion of where the conversation has turned to.

“But. What if you marry a _stranger_?” He flounders a little. 

Nodding her head, slowly like he’s stupid, “Still must be consummated.” She says.

“The more I hear about your world the more I hate it, just saying.” Tone frank.

Frowning, she looks to Gilgamesh then back to Cor, “Is that not normal here?”

Sympathetic, but blunt, he responds, “No Sansa, not really. You get married and _boom_ thats it. You’re sharing taxes and a bank account. Though,” He concedes, “it’s normally _traditional_ to have sex but you don’t _have_ to the night of your marriage.”

“But what about heirs?” Sansa questions, expression baffled. Cor would be embarrassed at the factual way they begin to talk about sex, but it was important for him to know two things. One: What the _fuck_ kind of world was he going to. And two: What _shitty traditions_ can he work around and _maybe_ get abolished.

Rubbing at his forehead, he tries to remember the bullshit politics of the nobles in Lucis. “Uh, heirs aren’t really a thing unless you’re royalty or some high lord.” Then realising something he looks at her abruptly, “Wait hold on. What if you don’t _want_ to have sex?”

Cocking her head to the side, “Who, the man or woman?”

Frowning, he answers slowly, “The woman.”

Sansa shrugs, uncomfortable, “She would have no choice if the man wished to bed her.”

He stares at her, anger and shock warring in his mind. “Martial rape.” Telling her this though doesn’t really mean anything. She frowns are the word rape, but not truly understanding what he is trying to say to her.

“What is that?”

Rubbing his face with both hands, becoming more and more exhausted with the people and laws of her world, “Oh _Astrals_ , this is _fucking disgusting_.” Groaning loudly in sufferance.

Clicking her tongue, now annoyed at him, “Cor, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

Clapping his hands together faintly like he’s praying, and boy does he really want to right now, he points his hands at her, asking, “So, like, if you’re _married_ , and your _husband_ wants to have sex and you _don’t_ , you still have to lie there and _take it?_ ”

A little shocked at his blunt statement, she hesitantly replies, “I-I assume so yes. It was what was going to happen to me.”

Pushing down the instinctual rage, he continues with his line of thought, trying to stay focused, “So the wife would have _no choice_. She couldn’t say it’s rape?”

Rolling her eyes, she drawls out, “It’s not rape because their _married_ , Cor.”

Clapping his hands onto her shoulders he looks her deep in the eyes and tells her honestly, “Sansa. _It is_. If consent isn’t given, _even_ if they’re married, it’s rape. Fuck, if you have sex _once_ and you said yes, that _doesn’t_ mean that you’ve said yes for the _next time_ you guys fuck! No means no, even if you _are_ husband and wife.”

She’s wide eyed, processing this new information, and Cor opens his mouth to continue but Gilgamesh interrupts, tone annoyed and exasperated.

“This conversation has gotten out of hand, no matter how important it is. Can you two _please_ focus on the impending war with the dead?”

Both starting, they turn back to the god. He would feel embarrassed at where the conversation has gone, but this was important for her to know! Important for everyone in her world to know. There is _no concession_ when it comes to rape. Rape is rape, no matter is the person is their attackers partner or a stranger.

“ _Right_.” Sansa concedes. “We were discussing weapons against the Others.” Taking a deep breath, she seems to try to push down her lingering anger. “I know there _must_ be more Valerian steel swords, _Ice_ wasn’t the only one. It’s rare and costly, _yes_ , but more have to exist.”

“They do. As for dragonglass, it is underneath Dragonstone.” The god confirms.

‘ _Do dragons exist there then?_ ’ Cor wonders, but he waits to ask that question, letting Sansa take the lead again.

Narrowing her eyes in thought, she questions for confirmation. “The castle?”

“Correct.”

“Do you mean there are weapons made of it in the castle or-“

Cutting her off, “No. It will need to be mined if you wish to use it.”

Sansa is in deep thought, mouthing to herself, frown of contemplation across her features. Whilst she is preoccupied within her mind, Cor can finally ask, “Do dragons exist?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Both the god and Sansa say at the same time. She turns a shocked expression to Gilgamesh, and exclaims, “What do you me ‘ _yes_ ’!? They’re extinct!”

‘ _Oh so dragons is common knowledge but not the undead rising?_ ’ He muses. ‘ _Interesting what people do and don’t believe there. Though if dragons were extinct there would be bodies and skeletons of them most likely. With the undead, they were most likely all burnt after the battle to prevent them rising again._ ’ It’s a logic decision of Sansa’s ancestors.

“Daenerys Targaryen rides with three.”

“‘ _Three_ ’!? How the in gods did she get three? More importantly, I thought all the Targaryens were _killed_?”

“Her mother escaped after Robert’s rebellion, giving birth at Dragonstone and then dying. Her elder brother took her to Essos, where they remained in hiding. A year ago, her brother Viserys died. She is Khalessi of the Dothraki, and currently freeing slaves across the Essos. She means to take the Iron Throne.” The god informs Sansa gravely.

‘ _There is so much going on here. None of these things mean anything to me._ ’ Rubbing his eyes, Cor lays down on the stone with a heavy sigh, Sansa arching an eyebrow. Waving his hand carelessly, “Do go on. This is knowledge that you need to know as future queen. It’s just a little too much for me right now.”

Sansa smiles in sympathy and sits down next to his sprawled form. Running her long fingers through his hair, that is definitely getting too long for his liking, he closes his eyes, relaxing at her gentle ministrations. “I’m sorry it’s so much at once. A lot of this is a shock to me too, but it must mean nothing to you as a stranger of my world.”

Shrugging, he responds calmly, eyes still closed, “Hey, I’m learning something new. Like the fact that your world is _completely_ ridiculous.”

She snorts, not taking offence at his words. “It _is_ a strange world.” She concedes. “It’s not _normally_ like this though, I promise. Dragons have been gone for years, and it’s been thousands of centuries since the Night King first attacked.”

“That’s a relief. All we gotta do is take back your throne, keep the independence of the North, fight the undead magic men, and kill a couple of dragons. _Easy_.”

Throwing her head back in laughter, it rings throughout the cavern even as Sansa slowly disappears back to her world.

Cracking open his eyes a second later, Cor sees Gilgamesh looking down at him. “Alright. Give me an hour nap and you can explain all that shit in larger detail when I’m awake. _Agreed_?”

“Agreed.” He rumbles, faintly amused at Cor’s exhaustion.

Relaxing into the surprisingly comfy stone, Cor can feel his mind starting to drift away, when a thought occurred.

“Hey where did you put all the bodies?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this chapter got more dialogue heavy than I planned, and all the lose stands of conversation will be expanded on when they become a bit more important to know. Cor will get a crash course on the fucking wildness of Westeros but it’s mostly offscreen. And yeah, I’m pretty sure that in Sansa’s world, marital rape isn’t really as thing, so she is confused and Cor is horrified. 
> 
> Also, Gilgamesh is the walking, immortal, and more emotional version of the three-eyed raven. And taller. Woo! I’m starting to really love the friendship between the god and Cor. And at some point I promise to expand on the minor deities and gods of Cor’s world, Eos. In canon, there are only 6, the astrals. I call bullshit because I don’t like any of those gods really so im saying fuck it to canon and making my own lore.
> 
> Until next time!


	9. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gifts and giving between to teens that are smitten but don’t know it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a long boy. Over 10 pages in my word doc.  
> Also count how many times i types ‘fabric’

Sansa is a mess when she wakes up. Her dress from last night’s festivities is wrinkled, and her hair has come undone, now in a loose braid, strands of hair falling out. Her head is also pounding like a hammer on metal. Sitting up with a groan, she cradles her face, the sunlight hurting her eyes. She didn’t feel this way when she visited Cor!

Whilst contemplating dying or throwing up, a knock at the door has her flinching at the sound, too loud for her head. Mouth dry, she rasps out a ‘ _Come in!_ ’ Loud enough to be heard. The door creaks open, and that too has her wincing.

“Sorry Alayne!” Someone loudly whispers. Peeking through her fingers, she spots Ellina, a resident maid in the Eyrie. The girl’s blonde hair is covered in her usual cloth, having forgone the headdress for a simple braid the night before. Now with it back in place, keeping her wild curls out of her face, the girl comes striding in, a tray in hand. Closing the door as softly as she can, Ellina comes over, and places the tray on her lap.

“I figured, what with you bein’ all highborn and all, you wouldn’t be used to the hangover.”

“Is that what this is?” She croaks. The other girl looks at her with sympathy.

“‘Fraid so! So I got you this special breakfast. Me mam’s recipe y’see. Cook the meat and potatoes in animal fat, and it perks ya right up in no time! Promise.” Her usual accent comes through, last night having been dared by Mya to talk like a noble lady all night. Ellina likes her commoner accent, saying ‘ _It gives me character!_ ’, but a dare is a dare, and she won.

“So what are you going to make Mya do now that you’ve won your bet?” Sansa asks tiredly. The food is good, and she can slowly feel herself perking up a bit.

She shrugs, uncaring, “Who knows! I figured I’d have ‘ere stew a bit ‘fore decidin’. Did ya at least sleep well last night?”

Sansa thinks back to seeing Cor and Gilgamesh again. When she arrived, Cor was nowhere to be seen causing her to panic before Gilgamesh soothed her worries. After having her sit down, they had a fascinating talk on the magic of Cor’s world and her’s. As well as the role of a Shield. Telling her of the oath that the Shield gives to their monarch had her frowning at the lack of oath given back. Normally after your swornsword gives you their pledge of safety and protection, the other would offer their home and hearth. A way of making the agreement equal. Sansa promised herself that when Cor finally was ready to swear himself to her side permanently, she would give him a promise to always have a home with her and to come back to.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she smiles back at Ellina, “I slept well. Though my legs ache from all the dancing. And I slept in my corset.” She rolls her shoulders, wincing again at the uncomfortable pains from sleeping stiffly.

Ellina nods in understanding, before pointing at her food. “Well, hurry up and finish then, m’lady. We can get that off as soon as yer done, _hm_?”

Nodding in thanks, Sansa ignores property and quickly wolfs down the rest of her food. She’s noticed lately that she is becoming more free with her behaviour, less proper as she was taught, and more relaxed when around those she trusts. ‘ _Maybe Cor’s behaviour is rubbing off on me?_ ’ She muses, small smile creeping across her face. 

Spotting it, Ellina narrows her eyes in good humour, taking a seat by Sansa’s legs, “Now whatchu smilin’ about?”

Hurrying to lie, she throws Luka under the wagon, “Luka has someone he wished to court.”

Ellina gasps, “ _No_! ‘E does?” Mouth full, Sansa nods quickly in reply instead.

Clapping her hands in excitement, she squeals. “Oh this is _brilliant_! I _always_ knew he carried a torch for someone, _especially_ after I spotted ‘im looking at ribbons a few moons back.”

Turning to her with a questioning look, Sansa shrugs, “Wouldn’t tell me.”

Groaning, Ellina pouts, disappointed. “Well that’s borin’. Guess we’ll ‘ave to pry it outta him then, huh.” She punches her fist into her other hand, a look of scary determination across her sweet features.

‘ _Luka. I’m so sorry._ ’

After eating, Ellina helped her get changed, choosing a soft lavender dress. Soft green leaves were embroidered in the draping sleeves, and she wrapped an equally soft green woollen shawl around her shoulders, the cold starting to creep into her bones after getting out from under her warm covers. Just because she loves the snow and cold doesn’t mean she isn’t affected by it. Taking Ellina’s suggestion, she forewent her usual corset, and laced up her stays instead. Looser on the waist, and good for informal occasions, it eased the stiffness her body had from sleeping in her corset, which was laced tighter than the stays.

Once her hair was in a neat braid, she deemed herself ready and the two girls left the room, Ellina taking the tray with her. Her aching head had abated from the pounding when she woke up, but there was still pain. So, after bidding Ellina goodbye, she decided a walk would do her good, gaining dome fresh air, and allow her mind to mull over all the information she gained when she visited.

The first thing to do, the most important task, is getting to Winterfell and claiming her home again. Doing so would be difficult, even with an army. Winterfell had two walls, with a moat in between them. Eighty feet was how high the outer one was, whilst the other was a hundred feet. It has never had a successful siege against it with having hidden passageways that only the Stark’s and a few loyal servants know. It’s only burnings were of the outer walls of the castle done by the Boltons twice in the past. Other than that, it has never suffered destruction or true take over, as there was always a Stark in Winterfell. Until now.

With Theon’s betrayal, the guards having let him and his men in because they trusted him, the take over was done from the inside. ‘ _There must’ve been hidden Bolton men within his, allowing the family to capture the castle and let in their men._ ’ Sansa theorises with resentment in her chest. But she concedes it’s strategically a good plan. Now, all she has to do is get in somehow. They’re not going to let her in with the knowledge of who she is _AND_ with an army behind her.

So it has to be her and only her entering, and somehow killing the Boltons, or at least opening both gates to allow an army in. She is annoyed that the secret passageways were never told to her, having been to young to learn, and having left South as well. The girl wonders that if she stayed, would she have been told?

No use dwelling on that question now. Not when she needs to claim Winterfell well before the Night King attacks. An army needs food, weapons and shelter.

Speaking of weapons, there is also Dragonstone to be thinking of, most likely needing the dragonglass underneath the castle. ‘ _Currently Stannis Baratheon owns the castle. So some alliance would be necessary. Perhaps swearing to help him gain the Iron Throne in allowance of mining his castle._ ’ Something to think about in the coming future.

Lord Baelish is the next problem. She didn’t lie to Lord Royce about saying the man holds connections, but it was also her gut instinct. Something is telling her he is useful for something soon, but she just doesn’t know what. So it’s best to keep him close until he is no longer needed, just becoming a hinderance.

There is also the problem with the Wildlings, and knowing it would be best if they were brought down from the wall, so that the Night King didn’t gain anymore soldiers for his army. And then contacting Jon. And then there was Daenerys in the East with her dragons. But all of this can only be solved when she gets her home back. Lord Royce has guaranteed her an army, but there must be houses that are still loyal to the Starks that could help gain back Winterfell from the Boltons.

But all of this is only in the future. For now she is in the Vale, waiting for Lord Baelish to finally reveal whatever scheme she can see him plotting behind those dark, unsettling eyes. Sighing in frustration, she heads down to where the washers and seamstress’ work, wanting to obtain some fabrics and bits of cloth to start practising her magic. She has a small stipend from Lord Baelish, allowing her to purchase bolts of fabric for her wardrobe.

At King’s Landing, all she had was the dresses when she first arrived, and any that the Cersei was _nice_ enough to give to her as she started to grow out of her dresses. They were short and tight, so a new dress or two was necessary when she was coming to the Vale, needing to look appropriate.

Now she is slowly filling her wardrobe back up, but what she needed wasn’t just for her. She wanted to test out making clothes for others, weaving her intentions into every seam she makes. Wondering if she could put curses in the clothing she makes then just blessings and protection.

_‘Could I defeat my enemies by gifting them a tunic that causes them to trip and fall off a cliff,’_ She wonders with dark amusement _. ‘It would be cleaner and and less noticeable than if I just stabbed them._ ’

But for now, curses would be put to the side. She had a plan in mind for a gift for Cor. After all, when he arrives, whenever that may be, he will need clothes that fit in with her world, than the strange ones he wears now. Sansa knows what colours he would prefer, with him wearing all black all the time. Maybe a tiny bit of embroidery, though he doesn’t seem to be the type to be all that fussed with it. But she did see that his jacket had tiny, skull shaped buttons on it. ‘ _How morbid of him. I wonder if that’s his family sigil. A skull. I will have to ask him the next time I see him._ ’ She decides with a firm nod, as she reaches her destination.

Smiling at the workers that greet her, she heads to the nearest one that doesn’t seem to preoccupied and busy with work. It’s Sara, one of the girls who spoke up in the trial. She seems to be winding thread around bobbins, and looks up with a shy smile when Sansa comes close to her work station.

Fingers still working the thread, she greets Sansa, “Hello, m’lady. Here for some more fabrics?”

Smiling, Sansa nods, “If you’re not too busy.”

Shaking her head, the seamstress stands up, setting the bobbin down. “For you Alayne, never.”

“Thank you very much.” She follows after Sara down the aisle towards the back of the room, past the work tables on either side. Shelves of folded and rolled fabrics sit in colour order, and Sara turns to her.

“So what are you looking for this time?”

Sansa begins to walk to the left of the colour order, Sara following dutifully behind. “Something of thick weaving, dark colours.”

Humming in interest, “‘ _Dark colours_ ’? Would’ve thought you prefer more colourful fabrics?”

Stopping in front of some greys, she looks behind her, replying to the worker, “I do, but one can never have a too small of a selection. Must keep my options open. You never know when you come across a time where you need a darker appearance.” Sansa advised with a playful tone.

The girl chuckles, hands held up in mock surrender, “Well, I’m not going to ask. I make it my policy what if someone asks for something out of the ordinary, I don’t ask questions. Questions could be dangerous.”

For a lowborn worker, Sara is well-spoken, as her father was a scholar, teaching his only child her letters and numbers. They come in handy when it comes to making measurements and adjustments for clothing.

Agreeing, “Too right you are, Sara. Though you have nothing to fear from asking me questions.” Sansa assures the girl. A smirk plays on Sara’s face, knowing and teasing.

“And I’m very grateful for that, m’lady. Wouldn’t want to get on your bad side.”

Sara showed her a few different selections. Mainly black of differing shades and types of fabric, with a few dark blues, greens, and browns. Going for more a thick, black woollen fabric, with a thinner, softer bolt of fabric of the same colour. Forest green and an almost black brown fabric, which will make for good tunics and breeches. Then thought ‘ _fuck it’_ , which sounded suspiciously like Cor in her head, and threw in the midnight blue onto the pile. ‘ _It will make his eyes look pretty_.’ Sansa thought matter-of-factly. A bolt of grey fabric was added last, and she was done. Then asked for some bits of cabbage. Sara directed her to the basket of scrap fabric, over spilling like the cabbage patches in the Winterfell glass houses.

Picking the largest ones she could find, she asked if her bolts could be brought up as soon as they can to her room, and then waved her goodbye’s.

Arms laden with strips of fabric, Sansa hurried back to her room, without looking to eager, as fast as she could. She had a long afternoon ahead of her with practicing her magic. ‘ _Shouldn’t be too hard. If I can do it without knowing, it should be a slice a cake to do now that I’m aware of it._ ’

And she was right. The hardest part was finding out what to make and who for. With how small her bits of fabric are, she can’t make a blanket, or dress with them. So thinking harder, she perked up in her seat on her bed at an idea. The cabbage was perfect for handkerchiefs of varying sizes. And one, lovely light blue fabric piece was big enough for Ellina to use on her head. 

So starting on a handkerchief for Mya, She pick a cream scrap of fabric and begins. Deciding to embroider different types of leaves for the older girl, she begins to focus on each stitch. A mantra of, ‘ _Protection. Safety. Good Health._ ’ Rolls through her head, over and over, to the point that she was starting to murmur it out loud. Her focus is so in tuned with every stitch she made, it wasn’t until Sansa had finished the embroidery that she noticed she was done.

Blinking away her dry eyes, the girl loosened the hoop, and begun with hemming the edges to finish up the gift. Shaking out the finished project, Sansa gasped softly at the sight. There is almost a warm glow surrounding the fabric, appearing and disappearing like a little heartbeat. Holding it close, Sansa closes her eyes, and the sensation she gains from the cloth is of home. Is when she was a child, held in her mother’s arms. When she ran to Cor in the field and he held her close.

Safety. _Protection_.

‘ _It worked_.’ She breaths out a sigh of relief. And then the amazement of what she has made washes over her like a snow storm. She just did magic!

Feeling jubilant at her success, a muffled squeal leaves her lips, and she hops from her bed and dances around the room. She feels accomplished! Euphoric! And her excitement only dies down when there is a knock at the door.

Head whipping around, she tosses the handkerchief onto her bed and clears her throat, trying to muffle her obvious enjoyment. “ _Come in._ ” Voice steady as she can make it.

Door opening with the usual creak, Sara peeks her head in.

“Hello, m’lady! Delivery for you!” The girl informs with a grin. Grinning back, she gestures for her to enter, a few other worker coming in, arms laden with fabrics.

“Oh, thank you! Please, over here will do.” Gesturing to the large empty wall by her wardrobe. The workers were quick to follow with Sara stepping closer.

“I took the time to also get you some more threads. I didn’t know if you were running low or not, so here, m’lady.”

Sara holds out a basket, whilst the other servants start placing the bolts of fabric down by her wardrobe. In the basket is spools and spools of different threads, and Sansa picks out the few dark tones to match the fabrics, as well as a cream, having started to run low.

Smiling, she reaches out a squeezes Sara’s hand softly, “Thank you, Sara. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“Just doing my job, m’lady.” She shrugs nonchalantly. Nodding, Sansa goes over to her desk and fishes through a small pouch. Turning around, she holds out her fist.

“And here is your payment.”

Handing over some silver stags, the metal clinking in the seamstress’ hand’s, the girl smiled and curtsied.

“Thank you, m’lady!”

After the door shut behind the workers, Sansa turned to the fabric, and remembering the measurements she tried to eye when around Cor, the girl gets to work.

“I believe that is enough for today.” Gilgamesh decided, having watched Cor stumble in exhaustion. Hearing those words, Cor doesn’t right himself, just flops on to the ground, groaning.

“Ugh, thank _fuck_.” He was also thankful that there were no bodies for him to land on. As he catches his breath, the god comes over and sits with a dull clang on a rock by Cor.

“What are the seven kingdoms of Westeros?” Gilgamesh questions him randomly. Since the first few days after Sansa’s last visit where he gave Cor a crash course on Westeros, the rest of the week was surprise questions and quizzes. Particularly after Cor exhausted himself with sparring with the god.

Groaning again, “Gil. You are _killing_ me here.”

Ignoring his moaning, the god insisted. “What are they?”

Sighing in long-sufferance, “For _fuck_ \- Okay _fine_! Right so, seven kingdoms but technically but is actually divided into nine administrative regions: the North, The Vale. Uh, Crownlands, Stormlands, Riverlands, and Westerlands. _Gods_ these names are either really unimaginative or stupid.” Rolling his eyes. The god looks at him sternly.

“ _Leonis_.” He chides.

Flapping his hand in the direction of the god in annoyance, he continues, “Right, right. Fuckin’ two more I think.” Counts on his fingers, mouthing the ones he had already said, “Iron Islands, the Reach, and Dom-no! Dorne!” Crowing in triumph, before frowning, “What the fuck does Dorne even mean?”

“The Children of the Forest called it ‘ _The Empty Land_ ’ in the True Tongue. I’m not familiar with the language though, predating my immortality and the Astrals with how old it is. But ‘ _Dorne_ ’ could mean empty.”The god informs him. Humming in interest Cor recalls,

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned those kids before. Something about weirwood trees and faces.”

Nodding, the god begins to recite, leaving Cor to groan again, already feeling tired with the oncoming lecture. “They are a non-human race. Tree-like creatures that originally inhabited Westeros long before the First Men arrived. They were gifted with abilities such as power over beasts of the woods, ability to wear an animal’s skin, create music that it brings other’s to tears, having the greensight, and ability to speak with the dead. When the First Men arrived, they lived in peace until the creatures disliked them cutting down trees. The humans believed they were also being spied on through the trees. There was a great war. But some humans grew close to the Children, like the Crannogmen becoming greenseers. With the Starks, this happened as well, and there are Stark descendants and ancestors that have some of these abilities.”

There is a contemplative silence that fill the cavern, and then Cor drawls out, “...Okay, so like, does _Sansa_ know all that?”

Humming in confirmation, the god expands, “Northern people do, though most only hear them as stories as children, but yes. She does know all this information.”

Gesturing his hands nonsensically, he squints, “But more in an abstract sense, right?”

“...Right.”

Dropping his hands down onto his stomach, he suggests bluntly, “You should write this shit in a _book_ and give it to her. Stop telling me when I have only a vague idea of what the fuck you’re saying.”

“Apologies.” Though it’s said with his usual monotone voice, there was a small bit of embarrassment in his words.

Sighing, feeling bad for make the god upset, he pats the nearest part of the god in comfort. In this case, it’s is foot. “It’s fine, just, all this information is interesting, but not really what _I’m_ wanting to know.”

“What do _you_ wish to know?”

Sitting up, more alert as he gives out suggestions, “Enemies. How many men do the Night King have? Allies and potential allies. How to kill the NightKing. Things like that. I‘m better at battle strategy than politics and history.”

“You can learn a _lot_ from history.” Gilgamesh defends lightly.

Rolling his eyes in playful disgust, “ _Ugh_ , you sound like my squad leader.”

Lifting himself up off the ground, he brushes off his shirt and sheaths his sword. “I’m going into town.”

“You went in last week.” The god points out, standing up as well.

“Yeah, and I’ve run out of food. Also, the people there now know I live here, and are being nice enough to give me free food, so it’s cool.” That being said, he doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing that they know he’s staying and training with a god.

“They know?” The god tilts his masked head. He doesn’t sound too worried, so Cor lets go of his reservations.

Shrugging, he rifles through his bag, checking the amount of money he has as he talks, “They think I’m some kind of hero, or prophesied hero, I guess? Except for this one old lady, Amara-“

“ _Amara_? She’s still _alive_?” The god blurts out, and Cor twists around in interest, eye brow raised.

“You _know_ her?”

Nodding, there is an ease to his normally uptight posture as he talks about the woman. “Yes. She stumbled across my cavern when she was a child, lost in the woods and far from her home.”

Snorting, “Must’ve been freaked out by the dead bodies.” Cor dryly teases.

Sighing in aggravation, “ _Please_ stop bringing up the dead bodies.”

Straightening up, he goes over to the god and lays a solemn hand on the god’s forearm. “Gil. I will _never_ stop bringing up the dead bodies.”

“ _Go away._ ” Now annoyed, the god turns away.

Flailing, and trying to hide his mirth, he calls out to the god’s retreating back,“ _No no, wait-_! _I wanna hear about your past lover, Amara!_ ”

Flipping him off, the god storms back into his cavern and Cor is left there laughing uproariously at the god’s reaction.

When he got to town, he bee-lined for Amara, who was at her usual fruit stall. The old woman’s hair was completely white, crow feet and laughter lines wrinkle her tanned face, and she gives him a gummy smile when he walks up to her.

“You have the face of trouble, little soldier.” Eyeing him with a teasing glint.

Giving her a shit-eating grin, he responds, “Yeah, giving Gil shit is the _highlight_ of my day.”

She gives a soft sigh, one of nostalgia on fondness, “And how is that rust bucket doing?”

“Taciturn and sleeping next to corpses. The usual.” He answers, short and to the point. That gets a chuckle out of the older woman.

“Good, good.”

After chatting for a little longer, he decided to take a mosey around the town after getting a free bag of strawberries from Amara. Stopping by the shop for more food, he passed a used book store. It caught his eye a couple of times, but never went in. Standing, deliberating a couple of seconds, he shrugs and walks in.

Musty book smells fill his nose as the door opens, bell above ringing. A young man, maybe in his 20’s is by the check out on the left, whilst the rest of the fairly large store is filled with bookshelves, packed with books of differing sizes and colours.

Giving a polite nod, he starts to head in a random direction before a thought occurs to him. Turning back to the man, he ask, “Sorry to bother you but could you help me with something?”

A friendly smile, the man nods. “Of course.”

Fumbling with a good excuse, he manages to get his question across, “Right so, I have a... _sister_. A younger sister. And I was wondering if you have any book suggestions. Like, something about independence but maybe romance too? Something classic.”

Tapping the counter with his finger, the man looks up, recalling his book collection. “Hmm, well, I’ve a few ideas, let me go find them. Wait here.” Holding up a finger for him to wait Cor nods in agreement as the worker walks off into the stacks of books.

“Sure.”

Waiting doesn’t take to long, the man obviously knowing exactly where everything is, as he comes bustling back with a small pile five minutes later. Coming closer to the counter, Cor watches him thump the stack on the wood, and start separating the books. With each book, he gives the title and a little description.

“ _Now_ , I don’t know how old she is, but I got a younger sister too. And these were some of her favourites when she was younger as well as when she got older. Giving you a variety here.” Holding up the first book, “Now this here is ‘ _A Little Princess_ ’. A lovely, rich little girl lives during the industrial period of Tenebrae. She is sent to a boarding school. The matron isn’t the nicest, and when it comes out that the girl’s father had died, she is forced to become a servant, and is treated not very nicely. It’s a good book, and my sister has read so many times.”

Setting that down, he picks up a larger book. “Now this here is by a classic writer, but they just go under the initials, J.A. This is a collection of their books, and all set during the regency period of Cleigne. Strong women, but there is still romance in there too. My sister started to really love them when she was a teen.”

Then holding up the third, and last, book, “And this one is called “ _Little Women_ ”. Four sisters during the civil war of Accordo-“

“Which one?” Cor interrupts with interest.

“The 1860’s one, not the 1820’s.” The worker answers easily. Cor nods in understanding.

“ _Interesting_.”

Continuing the synopses, the man agrees, “Yeah. It’s their lives during the time period. Includes fighting for a woman’s right to be more than a wife, but also acknowledges that some wish to be as well. Sister relationships abundance. My sister read this a lot and for a whole week demanded I act like a girl so she could have a sister.”

Cor snorts at the anecdote whilst looking at the choices, before deciding to buy all three. They’re used, and surprisingly cheap for hard backs. Then an idea pops into his head, as he is reaching into his pocket to pay.

Scratching his head awkwardly, he asks, “So, I need another book.” The man waits, pausing in his preparation to check out the three books.

“It’s- so it’s me and my sister, and well, she’s just started, you know. _Bleeding_.” The man’s face lit up in understanding. Though he felt awkward talking about it, it wasn’t so much the topic, than just asking another guy for help. He didn’t know how the man would’ve reacted to hearing the question, some men finding it gross. When Cor was 13, just joining the Crownsguard, he had a squad mate who had cramps in the middle of a fight. Concerned she was shot, he hurried over to help only for her to tell her it was her period.

The thing about Cor though, is that he wasn’t raised around women, and had no care to learn about anything that wasn’t necessary to fighting or basic education. So at his lost expression, she gives him a crash course and destroys any myths he might’ve heard. Finding the topic a mixture of horrifying and interesting, as he does with a lot of topics that take his notice, he went on a binge research.

From then on, he was adopted by a lot of the females in his squad because of his chilledness with their talks of periods. Would just listen to them rant and complain and add his two cents every now and then about the stupidity of the health care system when they got to that subtopic.

Back to the present the man asks, “Ah. You want a help book?”

Coming around to the idea, he throws in another suggestion, “Yeah, like on the biology of it all, but something that is also for like being confident? And proud in your gender? I dunno.”

Eyes lighting up the man rushes back down through the shelves, calling back, “I got just the thing!”

He leaves the shop with a paper bag weighed down with six books. The three stories, a book on female biology, and two books about the modern day feminism. There is also a spring in his step, excited for the next time Sansa appears.

Which happens to be the next day. In the middle of a spar with Gilgamesh, he manages to disarm (Not like the first time they fought when he actually _lobbed_ the arm off), and hears clapping behind him. Smile already appearing, he sheaths his sword and twists around. Sansa sits on a small rock, and hops up off of it when he starts to walk towards her.

The casual affection shown between the two of them makes Cor’s chest tighten, as they hug each other in greeting. Always a part of him worries when she leaves, and the fear unravels every time Sansa visits. Pulling back after a few seconds, he gives Sansa a weird look, looking down at her clothes and finally taking in what she is wearing.

“Are-are you wearing _three_ shirts?”

Nodding in confirmation she steps back and he can see the full look she’s rocking. Layered on top of her usual night gown dress, is three shirts, green, blue, and black. Under her gown is a pair of dark brown pants. And to top it all off, a black cloak. Proudly, she adds to his observation, stating what he is just now seeing, “And a cloak and a pair of breeches!”

Completely baffled, “ _Why_?”

Grinning she informs him with enthusiasm,“They’re for you! They’re not finished yet as I don’t have your exact measurements, and I wanted to see what you liked best. Also, I have to be touching something when I visit to bring it with me, and since I usually visit when I’m sleeping, I had to wear it all.”

He is stunned, staring at her gobsmacked, “You’re making me clothes.” He states weakly, unused to this kindness. Sansa though doesn’t really notice how _touched_ he is by her gesture, just continues on explaining.

“ _Yes_! I’ve started to sew my intentions and magic into things, and I wanted to make you clothes that could help you in battles! Also because you _really_ need a new change of clothes.” Giving his outfit a pointed look.

Looking down at his ripped and hole-y clothes, he could see where she is coming from. With a fond smile, he watches as she begins to pull off the layers, one by one, laying them neatly on a nearby rock that doesn’t have any dried blood on it.

“So I didn’t know if you had any family colours or sigils. But I figured you like darker tones, so I’ve got a few selections here.”

Coming closer, he peers down at the options, liking the dark tones she picked, just as the girl guessed. Absentmindedly he explains, “I don’t have a family crest. Only high nobility and royalty do. Some families might, and I think the people from Galahd do, but their culture is a little different to Lucian’s.”

“Oh. Then why all the black and skulls?”

Lifting his shoulder in a small shrug, he runs his fingers over the thick material, “I was a soldier of the King, it’s their colour and sigil. A grey skull on black.”

“Do _you_ want to still wear his sigil?” She asks gently, and he looks back up, into her clear blue eyes. With a soft smile he assures her,

“I don’t mind it. Makes me look intimidating too.” He jokes at the end. Honestly he wasn’t bothered by it. Even before joining the military he liked dark colours. So it wasn’t much of a change. But he was still touched by her question, wanting to make sure he was comfortable.

“I guess it does. The Night’s Watch all wear black, so you may get confused with them.”

“Eh, who cares.”

Humming she picks up the black cloak, looking at it contemplatively, Sansa prods “So, skulls?”

“Maybe a few.”

Giving him a teasing grin she assures him, “I’ll make sure it’s _tasteful_ and _terrifying_.”

Standing, he allowed Sansa to measure his body, to get what she needs before asking him to try on one of the tops, or tunics, and the breeches. The fit isn’t that off, just some looseness around the joints and sleeves touching the tips of his fingers. The fabrics are also of a nice,warm quality. Good for colder climates, which he figures would be best with him going to be in the North.

“I’m good at eyeing measurements, but just in case, I kept parts longer or looser so that I can just take in what doesn’t fit.” She informs him, obviously well experienced in the skill of sewing. 

Trusting her word, he nods, “Makes sense.”

In the end, she has the measurements needed, marking on the clothes where there need’s fixing, and she starts to drag them all back on her body. It’s humorous how she is swimming in thefabric. They may be the same height, but all their proportions are off. She is tucking her tools into the breeches pockets, when Cor remembers the books.

He stops her, blurting out, “ _Wait_ , I got you something!”

Before she could reply, he was hurrying off to his tent, and quickly snatching up the paper bag. Trotting back over, he holds it out for her grab, a bewildered, but flattered expression across her face. Nervously, as she looks into the bag, he explains.

“So I got you some books. A few stories and a few, um, helpful ones. A word of advice, because of how the technology in this world is a bit more advance, you definitely don’t want anyone seeing them.”

Her eyes are wide as she stares at some of the colourful covers of the books. Fumbling to open one of the books with her long sleeves and only with one hand, she gasps in awe at the sight of the printed words, neat and in a strange font. And for the biology book, she looks enraptured at the clear, detailed diagrams. Looking at him, she seems at lost for words.

Smug at her reaction, he explains, “That book is about the female body. In depth and way more accurate than the knowledge where your from I bet. And the other two non-stories are about female rights, and how only you have ownership of you body. Thought you would like that.”

Shoving the book back in the bag, she flings her empty arm around his neck, pulling him in for a tight, longer hug. Kissing his cheek she says sincerely, “ _Thank you Cor._ ”

Blushing, he looks away, hand coming up to ruffle at his hair, flustered. “It’s no big deal.”

With one last grin, she disappears.

“You are both very awkward to watch.” Gilgamesh states bluntly.

Face a furious red, he spins around, growling, “Then don’t _watch_ , asshole!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay damn. This was a long one. So first thing first, just going to explain a couple of things  
> So corsets and stay are pretty similar, though i sure that corsets are more for formal events and are strapless whilst stay do up at the front, have straps and are more for commoners. Could be wrong tho. And no, corsets don’t fuck up your body, thats a bullshit myth and i could go on a rant about but i would rather not.  
> Cabbage is a term i’ve heard sewers call their collection of scrap fabric, so i decided to have sansa say it too.  
> The books are ‘A little princess’, set in england, victorian time i believe, a collection of jane austen books, and ‘little women’ set during the american revolution. All the places i mentioned are in the canon FFXV world, and i made the books to fit the places a little.   
> Cor looked at Sansa, saw the terrible ideal as thought, ‘this place has shitty sex ed’ and then gave her three books to help. 
> 
> Also here is the link of what i basing the winterfell castle after: https://youtu.be/dZdbpfcxfSk  
> It’s a cool video and i will be using it in my story. Also sansa doesn’t actually know how the boltons took over her home, this is just her speculating.   
> Until next time!


	10. Girl power and Boy stupidity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa dumps a lot of shit onto her friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is kinda a filler, but the next chapter should be up late tonight.

The candle on her bedside table was half melted, flame steady and tall in the dark room. Pillows supporting her back, Sansa sat under her covers, eyes enraptured by the words she was reading. Strange, entrancing words flowing through her mind, as she learnt about bodily rights and empowerment that all females should have.

It was strange to think that in Cor’s world women didn’t have to marry and have children. Wasn’t looked down upon for not finding a good man or being unable to produce children. Only Septas or the Silent Sister never married or laid with a man, as their vows prevent that choice. But to learn that women had jobs there. Without a man running the business! Amazing! In Westeros, she knows that there are women who run shops or stalls, but they would always to be pressured to put having a family first.

There was also experiments she read about from countries she has never heard of, but the contents were what really hooked her. Comparing different physical abilities, like fighting, between genders and how women could be just as strong as men, if not more.

One chapter focused on different types of abuse, and she was shocked that physical abuse, like what she went through, wasn’t the only kind of abuse. And the expanded topic that Cor brought up, Marital Rape, had clarified what she found confusing.

It was only as her eyes were aching and starting to droop that she finally set her book aside and blew out her candle. Going to sleep to new thoughts and ideas, Sansa was excited to be queen if for nothing else than improving life for women.

The next week, all this new knowledge was starting to open up her eyes to common, bad practises around her. At one point she was sitting with Lyn, Mya, and Ellina, when they weren’t busy with their jobs and tasks. Gathered on her bed, she was listening as Ellina was talking about another maid whose father was arranging his daughter’s marriage to a man twice her age.

Sansa couldn’t help but pipe up, “What about what the girl wants?”

“What do you mean?” Lyn asked.

Frowning, Sansa asked, “Well, does she _want_ to get married? Especially to a man she’s never met.”

Ellina shrugged, not looking too concerned with what Sansa is suggesting. “Well, I guess it’s strange tah marry a stranger, but the man is a fairly good prospect, so she ain’t doing bad with that choice.”

“How old is the girl?” Sansa asks quietly.

“13.”

“...and the man?” Dreading the answer as soon as her question leaves her lips. Ellina confirms her thoughts.

“I think in ‘is 30’s?”

Looking around at the unconcerned expressions of the girls around her. “Do none of you see the problem?”

Frowning, Mya agrees, “I mean yeah he is old but-“

Sansa cuts her off, voice starting to raise in indignation, “But _nothing_! She is a _child_!”

“She’s started her moonblood Sansa, she’s a _woman_ now.” Lyn’s voice was almost condescending, and that had Sansa’s frustration exploding. 

“No she _isn’t_! She is a _child_ who just started her monthly cycle! Your moonblood doesn’t even regulate for at least a few months to even years! And just because you’ve started bleeding doesn’t mean you _can_ have a child. In fact, having children young is a serious risk to the girl’s body, leading to all sorts of complications, like injuring the womb to even _killing_ the girl! And this is all not taking into account that she isn’t even _mentally mature enough to take care of a family seeing as she is still a child herself!_ A girl’s body is _safely_ able to carry a child when they’ve reached their 20’s! It’s your best chance to be fertile and has the lowest risks for pregnancy!” She is panting, the other girls staring at her like she’s gone insane. Taking a deep breath, she continues, still equally furious as she started.

“ _Further more!_ That is a _man_ laying with a _child_! A man who could be her father with how old he is! It’s _disgusting_. That fact that the man is even considering to marry and bed a child against her will when there are perfectly good women his age he could be marrying instead!”

The girls are frozen in shock at the information she has dumped on them, but Sansa is not finished. _Oh no._ She has one last thing that she needs to get off her chest before she sits back down, having had to stand up a pace as she ranted.

“And even if they _do_ marry, it will _never_ be the girl’s real choice. A man chosen by her father, she will be pressured the marry because her father will say it will provide for the rest of her family. Or because he will toss her out if she says no. He will give excuses or tell lies, anything to make her marry. And when they do, she can’t give full consent on the wedding night because one: _she doesn’t even have the full knowledge_ on what goes on in the bedding because she is still a _child_ , and two: _because she can’t say no._ You can’t say no to your husband. Even when you don’t want to have sex. Even when you say you’re scared, or not ready. You can’t say no because we girls are raised that we must listen to what the men in our lives say because ‘ _they know what’s best for us’_. Which they are _wrong_ about! It’s our lives, _our bodies!_ We know ourselves better than anyone else, and _certainly_ better than some strange older man!”

Sitting down forcefully, breathless from raising her voice and talking so much at once, Sansa crosses her arms and watches as the girls reel with all the information that she’s yelled. Yelling out the injustice that they are blind to because of how common knowledge it is. How they were raised to feel this way. It’s Mya who blinks out of her stupor and sits forward a little, a growing interest and serious focus crossing her face and posture.

“Are you suggesting, that laying with a man on your wedding night when you don’t want, is considered _rape_?”

Nodding firmly, Sansa confirms her suggestion, “Yes. It’s called marital rape.”

Lyn looks uncertain, nervous, wrinkling her skirts with her tight fists, “But. You’re your husband’s, aren’t you.”

“Are you a _horse_ , Lyn?” Sansa bluntly asked.

Started, the girl fumbles over her words, “Wha-No! I’m a _person_!”

“And as a person, you are not property. No one owns you but _you_.”

There is a heavy silence over the group, all taking in Sansa’s words, digesting it and coming around to the important information she’s given them. Ellina narrows her eyes, “This ain’t somethin’ you’ve suddenly came up with. Where you gettin’ these thoughts?”

Contemplating whether she wants to show them or not, she decides after a quick few second that they should be aware of the injustice in their society. Standing up, Sansa strides to her wardrobe and takes out a small wooden box hidden in the bottom floor of the wardrobe. Bring the box over, she sits back down and says to the girls, her face dead serious.

“What I’m about to tell you, _can’t_ be shared outside this room, do you understand?”

At their promising nods, she begins to explain. “A few months back a started to have these dreams. Or at least, I _thought_ they were dreams. I was visiting a person, a boy my age. From a distant land. There, I’ve made friends with the boy and he gave me these books the last time I visited.”

Resolutely ignoring their baffled, disbelieving expressions, she opens up the box and pulls out the feminist book she was reading last night. Eyes widening at the sight of the brightly covered book front, they eagerly swarmed closer, scooting across her bed to take a look. Sansa opens it up and lets them gasp in awe at the printed words, running their fingers over it. “I’ve never seen a book like this before.” Mya murmurs.

“How are yah visitin’ this boy?” Ellina whispers, astounded.

With a soft smile crossing her face unintentionally, she answers quietly, “His name is Cor Leonis. He is 15 and a soldier.”

“A _soldier_!?” Lyn gasped in shock. 

“Doesn’t answer how you are visiting him.” Ellina frowns, still waiting for an answer.

Biting her lip, Sansa says, “I don’t know yet. I believe it’s an intervention of the gods, though I don’t know how.”

“ _The gods!?_ ” All three girls exclaim which has Sansa shushing them fiercely, flapping her hands. All four girls look to the closed door, and wait for any possible sounds of people being outside the door. After a tense few second they all turn back to the conversation.

“Look,” Sansa said, a little disgruntled that she doesn’t truly know how she is traveling, but at the very least the girls are listening to her. Though it could be the foreign-looking books that is helping to convince them. Lyn has pulled out the biology book and is now oohing and ahhing at the diagrams. “I’m not too sure myself. But right now, Cor is training under a minor deity, Gilgamesh, learning to improve his fighting ability. Gilgamesh also was telling me about-“ then stops herself.

Sansa hadn’t gotten around to giving the girls their gifts, and she doesn’t know if she can convince them that magic exists without some proof. Gods and different worlds was already pushing it. Going over to her vanity, she opens up one of the draws and pulls out the two handkerchiefs and head scarf she made. All three hold a faint shimmer with the magic imbued in each stitch. Coming back to the girls, she hands out the gifts, all three gasping in awe at the sight of them.

“I-I can’t say for sure, but, it feels. Strangely warm.”

“Yeah, I’m pickin’ up on the same thing.”

“If I hold it up in the light, it looks kinda golden.”

They all murmur with each other, looking at their’s and one another’s bits of fabric. Relaxing in relief at them being able to tell the magic on them, she restarts her cut-off explanation. 

“The god told me about magic, particularly magic of intention. When I made these for you, I poured my intention for safety and good health in them, hoping that whilst you carry them on your person, you will be protected.”

It takes awhile to get them to understand. She ends up recounting each meeting with Cor, showing the knives he gave her during the third visit. They sit, enraptured by her story, every now and then asking for clarification. It was already late in the afternoon when they decided to spend time together in her room, but now it’s coming on to evening, just past dinner. When Sansa finished, they seemed to sit in silence, absorbing everything, and then Lyn stands up to go fetch some food, stating that a walk will help her think.

She trust these girls, but watching Lyn leave, tying her new headscarf over her hair, a small terrified part thinks she is going to tell someone. The other two must see her worried face, and Ellina places a comforting hand on hers.

“Hey, quit worryin’. She ain’t tell nobody, she really does need a walk to clear ‘er head. I swear it.”

Biting her lip, Sansa gives a soft nod. Ellina eyes her for another second before pulling away. Mya looks at them, before giving Sansa her own nod of confirmation. With an exhale, Sansa tries to relax. She feels bad that she jumped to the conclusion, but it’s difficult not to, with how she lived for almost two years surrounded by enemies.

Thankfully, both girls seem to understand that, and when Lyn comes swanning back into the room, a platter of food piled high, she seems more upbeat than when she left.

Closing the door, she hurried back to the bed, setting the dish in the middle. Hungry, the girls eagerly grab the breads, meats, and cheeses laid out, munching away.

Food tucked into one cheek, Mya asks, “So if I’m understanding this right, you’ve got yourself a boy _willing_ to kill for you?”

Blinking, surprised at the question, Sansa stutters, “I- _Yes_? I guess he would.”

“ _How romantic!_ ” Lyn fakes a swoon, she holds the back of her hand to her head, cheese still gripped in it. The other two giggle and Sansa blushes furiously.

“It’s not _like_ that!” Snapping at the other girl, mortified.

Mya suddenly gasps, snapping a finger and pointing, “Wait! That was who you were _thinking_ about! After we kissed!”

Still tying to deny, Sansa can tell that her whole face is now entirely red. “N-no! It _wasn’t_!”

Ellina cackles, “Stop lyin’, we can see yer blushin’.”

Holding her hands to her cheeks, she lets out an embarrassed moan, “Leave me alone, you witches.”

“‘ _Witches_ ’? I thought you were to one with the magic.” Mya retorts, a grin stretched on her face.

“So do you love him!?” Lyn leaps in, eagerly wanting her to say yes.

Spluttering, “It’s complicated! We’re not like that, he’s just-“

“Pledging his undying loyalty to you and your cause, ready to kill anyone who harms you.” Mya slyly cuts in.

Wrapping arms around herself dramatically, she warbles, “Embraced yuh in ‘is arms, crooned soft nothin’s in yer ear.”

“Gave you books on how to fight the patriarchy?”

The girls to to look at Lyn, who blinked owlishly at the other girls confused looks. Sheepishly, she held up one of the books, “It said in here.” Then looking back at the book, confused, “What’s the patriarchy?”

“Leonis, don’t you _fucking_ dare.”

“I”m sorry that it has to be this way Gil. It’s over for you.”

“You _traitor_ , I trusted you.”

“Yeah but, you really _shouldn’t’ve_.”

Pointing at him, the god growls, “You lay that _fucking_ card down and I’m throwing you into the pile of bodies.”

“ _Ah ha!_ ” Cor crows in satisfaction, “So you do admit you piled them somewhere, then?”

“Don’t change the subject, you little shit.”

Sighing, Cor lays down two +4’s. With a wide, false, closed lipped smile, “Pick up 8, Gilgamesh.”

Letting out a cry of rage he throws the already large amount of cards in his hands at Cor, who doesn’t even flinch. Turning to one of the ghost soldiers, he asks casual, “Kind of a sore loser, isn’t he.”

The ghost nods gravely. Another goes to speak, but Gilgamesh snaps out, “Say a word and I’m banishing you back to the spirit realm.”

The ghost shuts his mouth meekly, and nods. Rolling his eyes, Cor tosses his own card, his last card, onto the messy pile in front of them. It’s a blue 2, and the card it lands on it a blue 8.

“I win.” He drawls out. There is a split second of quiet before the screaming starts. Raging, Gil’s hand lashes out and grabs at the collar of Cor’s jacket. Too surprised to see he yelps as he’s dragged across the circle and into the air. The ghosts snuff themselves out in fear, crying out in terror, and Cor is left dangling in the air, the god’s face in his.

“ _How_ do you keep winning!? You aren’t cheating, I would know! I had a ghost watch you the whole time.” Gilgamesh roars in frustration. Craning his neck, Cor mages to get a glimpse behind him. He sees a ghost who is cowering under his general’s terrifying glare.

Letting a faint huff of amusement, he waves at the ghost before his attention is abruptly turned back to the god. Shaking him a little, Cor brings his hands up and pats the god’s only arm, “Don’t feel bad that you suck at Uno, Gil. You can’t be good at everything.” He consoles blithely.

Growling, “Right. That’s it. You’re going into the pile of bodies.” And then turns, heading deep into the cavern. Yelping again, Cor hefts his legs up and wraps all four limbs around the god’s massive arm. Clinging on tightly, the god stomps over to- “ _Holy shit you actually fucking dumped them in a fucking hole!_ ” Cor exclaims, finding morbid humour in this entire situation.

Then giving the god a stern frown, “What would Amara say. For _shame_.”

Holding his arm out over the bodies, Gilgamesh proceeds to violently shake his arm, trying to dislodge Cor’s grip. But jokes on him, Cor’s grip is like a fucking leech. Clinging tighter, the god stops after a minute, and holds him up to his face. Turning a faintly dizzy head to meet his eyes, Cor just gives a cheeky grin.

“ _Why_ did you have to cut off my arm.”

“ _Well_ , you see-“

“Uhm, General?”

“ _What!?_ ” They both turn to snap at the ghost, who cowers at both of their directed yelling.

“Q-Queen Sansa is here.”

Eye’s widening, Cor lets go and manages to swing himself away from the pit, the god having let go of his collar when Cor wrapped himself around Gilgamesh’s arm. “Oh sweet!” The god tries to snatch at his fleeing body but misses, a growl of annoyance leaving him.

Cor then proceeds to dash out of the cavern, leaving behind a vexed god and a terrified ghost. Turning to said ghost, Gilgamesh waves him away with a sigh of sufferance, the spirit puffing away like dust.

When he exits the cave, he spots her, looking a little lost with no one else around. In her arms, she has a pile of folded clothes, and upon seeing him, let’s out a relieved sigh. Meeting him the middle, Sansa snuggles into his open arms, and Cor murmurs a soft greeting. Soaking in the warmth, he enjoys the few seconds.

When he pulls back, he notes a quiet nervousness about her, and as he takes the clothes, it’s not from wanting to see his reaction to the finished pieces. It’s something else. Gently setting the clothes onto a rock, he takes her hands in his.

“Sansa, what’s wrong?” Softly spoken, and she squeezes her eyes closed, like she is in pain.

“I’m.” Looking into his eyes, she whispers with dread, “ _I’m getting married again._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaha, plot is starting up again!
> 
> So you had a girl chat, where the usual topics take place: boys and feminism. Also, i deliberated on her telling them, but then i thought, as a teen girl, i would’ve totally told my friends i got a cool boy im seeing on the regular. And i thought it would be funny in the future when they meet him they can tease Cor.
> 
> More shenanigans with Gil and Cor featuring: Three very terrified ghost soldiers of Gil’s army.


	11. The Shield’s Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are discussed, and a question is asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Discussion of past rape

It was a few weeks after the night she spent with Lyn, Mya, and Ellina when she was informed she was to be married. Lord Baelish, Lord Royce, Robyn, and her, including many guards, were taking a tour around the Vale, visiting villages and having Robyn practise his sub-par skills at swordsmanship. She was sad to leave all her friends behind, even when a few suggested to come as her handmaids. But she felt a sense of foreboding when Lord Baelish told her of their travel plans. These were her thoughts on the matter:

One: He was slowly starting to enact whatever plan he has created. Two: He was separating her from her friends and allies, make her rely on him completely. So with those thoughts running through her mind, she told her friends that it would be best for them to stay. They of course protested, but Sansa said it was final. The decision was made, and she would not endanger any of them by involving them in Lord Baelish’s schemes.

Whilst traveling, she had seen Lord Baelish receiving and sending off letters. Curious, she had asked him, but every time he would makes excuses of corresponding with the other lords around the Vale, preparing for winter. She knows he’s lying, and he knows that she does, but they continue to play this game, until finally, she gets his answer.

“I’m arranging a marriage for you.” Her gut clenches at his hoarse words, his eyes staring through, waiting on her reaction.

“You’re _what_?” Her voice is small, entire being feeling small with his words. She suspected that this may be the route he would take in whatever play for power he is working towards. But she hoped, _hoped_ , this wouldn’t be the plan.

“An alliance, one that will get you closer to Winterfell.” He feeds he information like crumbs to a bird, getting her closer to what ever endgame he has, but only on his terms. He could’ve kept this quiet, could’ve fed her another lie, but not this time.

Still, when she stutters out her words, her reactions are true. “You can’t- You have _no right_ to-“

He seems almost disappointed at her honest reaction. Like she should know better, and she does! But, she hates lying. “Don’t I, _Alayne_? I’m you _father_ after all.” It was a warning, and she snapped her mouth shut, keeping her raging words in.

‘ _You are not my father.’_ She thinks hatefully.

The rest of the day, she is quiet, contemplating her next plan of action. He still hasn’t told her who she will be marrying, so that is an unknown she isn’t able to prepare for. But, it’s a Northern house, it must be. That night when she rests, still mulling over ideas and her body is swathed in all the clothes she’s finished for Cor, she appears in the Tempering Grounds.

Looking around, ‘It’s empty.’ she notes, no Cor or Gilgamesh to be seen. Slowly taking off the layers and folding them, Sansa hugs them tight, worried. _Scared._

Seeing Cor is a breath of fresh air. A relief. And she meets him in the middle, pushing in close to his warm body. The arms around her feeling like they keep an entire army away from her, keep her safe from everything.

His face is shocked when she tells him about her betrothal.

“Why are you getting _married_!? You _just_ got out of your last one!” He exclaims, brows furrowing in anger. She can’t help the fondness that fills her whenever he is quick to anger. He never means any harm by it. It’s just his way of reacting, and she knows he will calm after getting it all out, and start looking for a solution to the problem. Still, the accusation in his voice has her puffing up in anger.

“It’s not my _choice_!” Unfortunately, the anger comes out as desperation, and he sees the look of fear in her eyes. Fumbling for his words, his anger dies down, the rational part of his mind kicking in.

“Not your- _right_. Of course. It wouldn’t be, _would_ it.” He asks rhetorically, sighing.

Scoffing, snips out, “And even if it was, _I wouldn't marry anyone if they’re not_ -“ Halting her words, though the last word is on the tip of her, she flushes minutely and then quickly changes subject. He gives her a brief, confused look at her sudden stop, but it seems he didn’t pick up on her almost mistake.

Shaking her head to clear away her stupid, fanciful thoughts, she barrels on firmly, “But that’s besides the _point_. I’m heading North, and I’m positive I’m marrying someone who is a Northerner.”

Huffing in frustration and disgust, he asks, “So you don’t know _who_?”

She shakes her head, stepping back a bit when she realises how close they were standing to one another. “Lord Baelish wouldn’t tell me. It took me _weeks_ to pry out of him that I’m getting married, but he is still keeping his plans close to his chest.”

With a groan Cor rests his hand on the hilt of his blade, “ _Fuck I hate that man._ ” Then giving her a hopeful look, “Are you _sure_ I can’t kill him yet?”

Lips quirking up a little, “Unfortunately, no.”

He curses, running a hand through his hair. “ _Damn_. Do you have an idea of who you’re marrying?” He asks, changing the subject to the next important thing.

Sans shrugs, “Many heirs and lords died during the battles for northern independence. I don’t know who are alive and who aren’t. Anyone of them could be either still loyal to my family, or loyal to the Boltons.”

“And the Boltons are currently holding Winterfell?” Cor clarified.

Nodding, “Yes, they-“ she stops, eyes starting to widen with realisation.

Cor quickly steps closer again, hands on her shoulders, voice worried, “ _What_? Sansa, what is it?” He demands, frown marring his features in concern.

“I think- I _think_ I’m going to be _married_ to Lord Bolton.” She chokes out, and the revulsion and nausea that hits her almost has the girl throwing up. Rubbing her back in comfort, Cor thinks over the theory, not being able to fully see how she got there, but trusting her judgement on matters of her land.

“What is your reasoning for that? And think about it closely.” His voice has a command to it, as if ordering her. She should be indignant if it weren’t for how she clung onto it like a life line, centring her mind. Inhaling and exhaling, she gathers her thoughts and explains.

“Okay. _Okay_ so- So currently they hold the North. Lord Baelish, he is smart in the way he plays people like pawns. There would be _no point_ in marrying me to any of the other houses as they all have lost many men and would doubtfully rise to fight for me so soon. Then there is the fact that Lord Baelish would never aim so low in his scheming, especially if he marries me to people he knows will be loyal. He wants to keep me alone, _isolated_. So that I rely on him, that when he ‘ _saves_ ’ me in the end, I will be grateful. Marrying me to my enemies puts me into the perfect position to be in Winterfell. But what I’m confused about is why he thinks I can do anything _in_ that position.”

Cor is silent, considering her words before offering, “Because you are the rightful heir to the North?”

“Yes but- I’m not too sure. I need more information from Lord Baelish.”

“Maybe Gil could help.” He suggest, already turning to the entrance of the cave.

Blinking owlishly, “Pardon?” Sansa asks. He doesn’t respond as he yells at the god somewhere inside the cave.

“Hey Gil! What’s the current situation in the North? And I don’t just mean the undead.”

The weighted foot steps across the ground echo as the god leaves his cave. Taking a look at the two teens, he comes forward, speaking as he walks. “Currently Stannis Baratheon is in the North, battling against the free folk, demanding they kneel to his as King.”

Coking her head, “‘ _Free folk_ ’?” She questions.

“Wildlings. It is what they call themselves.” Her eyebrows raise in interest. When learning that the Night King is using the bodies of the Wildlings for his army, she was already making some possible plans on how to move them down from past the wall. It’s good to know that she has something to call them that won’t offend them as she tries to create an alliance. Still, the other information confuses her.

“Why is Stannis in the North?”

“The free folk attacked the wall, with the Night’s Watch sending a raven for help to many lords and King Tommen. Stannis was the only one that answered. Unfortunately, they were a day late. The Night’s Watch lost many men, but they won.” The god informed.

They settled into a contemplative silence, before Cor broke it, wondering out loud, “Hey, out of curiosity, how many are declaring themselves king right now?”

Cocking his head to the side, the god’s voice becomes far away, as it does when talking about things that are not happening at this minute or in this world. “There’s Tommen Lannister, a bastard, and current King of the Seven Kingdoms. Then Stannis Baratheon whose brother Robert was King and feels that he has the right to be King. And then the Iron Islands have declared themselves independent. And then Sansa, trying to keep the North’s independence.”

“And Tommen is a bastard because...?” Cor drawls, confused.

Sansa responds bluntly, “Him and his siblings, two now technically because Joffrey died, are products of incest.”

“ _Fucking-What!?_ ”Cor yelps, disgusted and horrified. He then turns to the god, snapping out, “You didn’t _mention that!_ ”

“I didn’t think it was completely important at the time. And-“

Then another thought seems to occur to him, and he cuts the god off, waving his hands, “No wait hang on a second! When you’ve been referring to people as bastards, are talking like, children born out of wedlock?” He turns to her, posing the question.

“Is, that not a common term?” She hesitantly asked. Cor has the same tone of voice when she mentions something about her world that her either doesn’t agree with or is different to his world.

Scratching at his head unsure, he shrugs, “I mean yeah, as an insult, but more often then not no one really cares if a woman gives birth to a child and she isn’t married. Hell, it’s actually fairly _normal_.”

“Oh.” She breaths, taking this information in. It’s very different here. She knows that women do have bastards, but they’re only really seen as bastards if the child is a product of nobility. That’s when they get a bastard’s last name. Like her brother, Jon. If he was born a bastard and her father was a commoner, he wouldn’t have the last name Snow.

Slowly, Cor questions, “Do, you have a _problem_ with bastards?” His eyebrow raised, and a part of her is ashamed by how she used to treat them, especially her brother.

“No-I- I _used_ to? My brother, Jon. He’s my half brother, and my mother _hated_ him. He is father’s son, and she always taught me to steer clear of him. I-I actually cared for him, but no one was ever on mother’s side when it came to Jon. So, I listened to her.” Talking about her family had her heat _aching_.

She loved her mother, and her father seemed to favour Arya, or Robb over her, so Sansa was happy to imitate her mother because it meant she got the approval she constantly strived for from her father. However, he always seemed unsure on how to act around her. But with Arya, she never had to put effort in making them love her.

“He isn’t your half-brother.” Gilgamesh’s solemn voice startles her out of her melancholy thoughts and she blurts out,

“ _What_?”

“Jon, he is the child of your Aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen.”

She stares wide eyed, frozen, at the god’s words. Her mind is loud, roaring in confusion at this shocking news. It feels like another part of her child has come crashing down, another lie built up has fallen. Reality as you grow up becomes harsher with every new truth exposed. And this one feels like one of the worst. Her father had _lied_ to them, had _lied to mother!_ Causing endless grief and bitterness in their marriage because of this lie!

Concerned, Cor stepped closer briefly touching her arm, and startling her out of her shock. Stumbling back, Cor catches her arm and eases her down on a rock. “Hey, breath okay?” He murmurs softly, when he sees that she isn’t.

Sucking in a gasp of air, she looks back up at Gilgamesh, “ _Why?_ ” Her voice is trembling, but she holds the command of a queen despite her stunned mind.

“Your father never told anyone, because he promised his sister he would protect Jon.”

Biting her lip she nods in understanding, hearing the seriousness in his voice. It makes sense, with how the other Targaryens were dealt with that her father would want to keep their family safe. _But at what cost?_ Eyes closing, she calms herself, and gets back onto the situation at hand, though her voice is still unsteady.

“I’m marrying possibly Roose Bolton in a month or so time, and Stannis is currently in the North. I know I have the Knights of the Vale on my side thanks to Lord Royce and Robyn favouring me. But, what I need is to somehow take over Winterfell from the inside. An army has never been able to storm Winterfell, so we can’t do a frontal assault.”

“Would the Boltons surrender if you kill their leader?” Cor questioned, taking on that commanding tone of his again. The part of her mind and heart that isn’t taken up in confusion and bitterness, softens. ‘ _He will become a great commander when he grows up._ ’ She thinks with fondness.

“Possibly.” She answers, “But your talking of assassination.” It’s not the assassination that really bothers her. She is happy for them to die. It’s just actually getting around to killing them that will be difficult.

“ _Yes_. No man is more vulnerable than when he is sleeping. You have a _knife_ , he has an open _neck_. Slit it when he’s asleep.” There is a cold tone in his voice, and Sansa almost feels afraid of it. Almost. She knows he has killed people. Has since he was 13, a _child_. When she was 13 she was _marrying_ her enemy. Cor was _killing_ on a battlefield. She has seen the haunted look in the eyes of tired soldiers. She sees it in his, though he hides it well.

“But how will I get past the guards?”

His shoulder tense minutely at that forgotten detail, “ _Ah_. That will be a problem.”

Humming in thought, “What if you were there?”

Cor doesn’t have time to reply before Gilgamesh interrupts her idea, “He is not ready.”

“I’m _not_?”

“He _isn’t_?”

They both speak at once, Sansa confused, and Cor annoyed.

Gilgamesh just shakes his head. Rumbling voice intones, “A Shield must perform a test of the monarch’s choosing. If he passes it by your standards, he may be deemed ready. But, I also must deem him worthy, seeing as he is still under my training.”

Narrowing her eyes, she sees that anger bubbling in Cor, upset at being doubted. She knows he hates to feel worthless, so Sansa quickly asks, “What kind of test? A battle?”

“Anything. What do you want from your Shield, Queen Sansa? What quality should someone who is to defend your life have?”

His questions leave her silent, contemplating his words. ‘ _What does she want?_ ’ Walking away from the other two, she wanders around the grounds, mulling over his words, twisting and turning in her mind. ‘ _I want someone who is kind. Someone who will be loyal. Someone to trust. Someone who will do the right thing, not the honourable thing._ ’ She’s gotten tired of men reciting honour, not knowing that doing the honourable thing doesn’t always means it’s the best option to choose from. You could state honour by protecting your king, because it is an honour to be in his service, but then turn around and hurt another because it’s an order.

Then the idea hits her, and she twists on her heel. Striding back to Cor and the god, both watching her, she approaches a fairly large rock and climbs up it. Sitting down, legs dangling over the edge, she announces her decision.

“Alright. I’ve decided on my test, and I want _both_ of you to answer.” She commands, chin tilted in a stubborn posture, hands neatly folded in her lap. Despite being in the middle of what is essentially a grave yard, in a shift and robe, she sits like a Queen, her throne a rock in one of _the_ most deadly places of this world.

“ _Sansa_ -“ Gilgamesh tries to cut in. But she won’t have it.

“ _No_ , Gilgamesh.” She denies firmly. “If you are training Cor, then I need to know if you have the attributes as well.”

Staring him down, Gilgamesh meets her gaze, and nods solemnly. “Very well then.”

Nodding back, she breaths in, closing her eyes, and begins to recall and memory. “When I was in King’s Landing, I would over hear rumours, and stories. About the Kings and Queens who lived before. There was a king, The Mad King, they call him. King Aerys Targaryen, had my Uncle and Grandfather killed when they came to demand my Aunt Lyanna back, believing she was stolen and raped by the King’s son, Prince Rhaegar. This man would burn people alive, _revelling_ in their screams of pain. He wasn’t a good man, good king, or. _A good husband._ ” She pauses, letting the information sink in.

Licking her lips, she continues, “Cersei Lannister told me what would happen to the Queen. How every night, the King would go to her bed chambers. And the knights and guards had to stand outside, listening to their King rape their Queen. She would beg, and _beg_ for help. _Beg_ for the king to _stop_. _Beg_ for the knights to _save her._ ” Cor lets out a shaky breath, and opening her eyes, she notes that he looks horrified by this knowledge. The god though, he doesn’t seem surprised, but she wouldn’t expect him to with his ability to seen the past, present, and future.

“And they _never_ did. Because they are the Kingsguard. They protect queen from anyone who wished her harm. Anyone, _but_ the king. He had the highest authority. And they sworn to protect him, so of course they wouldn’t stop their king from raping their queen. A queen, who by many people’s standards, was a benevolent queen.” Her voice is a whisper, and the Tempering grounds seem to tremble with the words she speaks. Taking in another deep breath, she gives her test to the two.

“So my question is this. When all the other knights are standing outside that door. Would you go in and _stop_ the king? Even if that meant _killing_ him? Even if that meant _treason_ , meaning _you_ would be _executed_? _Would you save your queen from her king?_ ”

Cor feels breathless with the question posed, and he wants to give his answer immediately but he knows he must think it through. Think of the consequences. Think of how he would act. He thinks he knows what she wants in an answer, but taking a look up at her blank face, a part of him hesitates. At first, he thinks that Sansa is the queen in this situation. Not actually, but like if this scenario was happening at this very moment, he thinks of her as the victim. But then, truly thinking about, what if she is proposing herself as the _king_? Would he truly strike down his own king? He wants to think no, he is _loyal_. But if his king is a _monster_ , would he _still_ say no?

He decides to give two answers.

“If you were the queen, who was being raped by her king, begging for help, I would save her. Doesn’t matter the power or station he has as king. I would take the consequences of saving the queen if that meant killing a monster. _No man or woman_ should be _allowed_ to get away with a crime like that. Even if they _are_ royalty.” Looking into her eyes, she shows no reaction to his answer, so he continues.

“But. If you were the king in this scenario. I would still kill you. I think, that it would be a _mercy_. If he was as mad as you suggest. Mad enough to earn that as a _title_. It would be a mercy killing for him. Something must’ve drove him to that point, though that is not an excuse for his actions. When he has no way of coming back to his senses, _if_ there has been no possible way to give him clarity, then I would kill him. It would be the _right_ thing to do. For the king, the queen, and the kingdom he rules.” He swallows, dry throat aching. But he isn’t finished yet.

 _“However_ , I would like to think I’m able to make a good judge of character. That I would _never_ swear myself to a bad ruler. And Sansa, _I could never see you as a bad ruler_. And I would like to think, that if you got to a point where you were toeing the line, you would _allow me_ to pull you back. To see _reason_.” They continue to stare at one another, and Cor can feel his palms sweating under her scrutiny. This is a look he has never seen before on her face. On his previous king, yes. But the kind girl who he has seen laugh and cry in equal measure. So radiant and alive when she argues against him. All her emotions willingly on display for him to see. But this cold look is frightening, because he _can’t_ tell what she really thinks.

“ _That_ is my answer.” He concludes, keeping his voice strong, despite the nervousness telling him to waver.

For a long moment she watches him, digesting his words, but then. She gives him a brilliant smile, like the sun parting through the clouds on a rainy day and he can’t help but sigh in relief. He passed the test.

Then she turns to Gilgamesh, who takes a long while to respond. And when he does, they stare, horrified by his answer.

“A thousand years ago, when I was a Shield to my king, I betrayed him. _Thinking_ it was for the good of the world. He was, depending on how you see it, blessed or cursed with the ability to heal. To take away a deadly plague from anyone. He was revered _and_ reviled in tandem, and I was there the entire time. I _thought_ , that he was falling into a pit of madness, when he continued to heal despite the fact that the illness he was healing, he was _actually_ taking it on _himself_. I thought it was _twisting_ him, making him paranoid. A monster. And. _I betrayed him._ I stood _aside_ as his younger brother _cut him down._ ”

Looking up at Sansa, Cor can feel the regret and grief held in the god’s voice. Held in his _heart_. “I _can not_ give you a good answer, Queen Sansa. For I don’t have the right to even think about the idea of being a Shield. I’ve _betrayed_ the one I _swore_ to be loyal to, and in doing so, have cursed myself to this eternal life. Worshipped for my ability to fight, but always knowing that I’m _not_ worthy of their reverence.”

Swallowing, numb, Cor asked quietly, “You told me, that a Shield only dies when their Monarch dies or they give their life to save their Monarch. _How are you still alive?_ ” He’s _afraid_ of the answer, _afraid_ of what could become of _him_.

The god looks down, shame and torment screaming from the way he hold himself. Cor has never seen his friend so anguished and _small_ before.

“ _Because so is my King._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, im so tired. I think I won’t be posting tomorrow, but defiantly the day after. I’ve just been grinding out so many chapters and i think i need a quick break.
> 
> Also, for those familiar with the game, yes, i am referring to the hobo king! He will be discussed, because there is some fanon lore that im building up here.   
> Also that whole thing with Honour and Right thing, they are in some way to different things. For example, Ned was honourable to give Cersei the way out and save her kids, but it wasn’t the right thing for his family because he put them in danger. I hope thats understandable and that im getting my point across. 
> 
> Hey, who here eve reads these notes btw? Just curious.
> 
> until next time!


	12. A Shield’s Lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilgamesh’s interlude.

When Gilgamesh first met, and subsequently fought, Cor Leonis, he saw himself in the boy.

There was a fierce, fighting spirit in the child. Some past soldiers would arrogantly state their ranks, or what battles they’ve fought. Cor had just entered the Tempering Grounds, waited until Gilgamesh appeared and asked for a fight. The simplicity of the demand and his entrance, had Gilgamesh almost regretting that he would have to kill the boy. And then he _couldn’t_. Because looking into the boy’s eyes, Gilgamesh saw a reflection of _himself_.

Like Cor, he too was torn between two monarchs, torn between the unspoken loyalty to a king, and the growing love to another monarch. It was small, but Gilgamesh could see how _devoted_ the boy was becoming to Sansa. And luckily for both him and the girl, Cor was able to see how the king he served took him for granted. And then casted him out when he proved too outspoken for his role as a soldier. And he was a good soldier.

Cor was so _desperate_ for approval and somebody to serve. When it comes to being a soldier, following orders is a comfort, especially when you are as adrift as the boy is. But there was more to him than just being able to fight and follow orders. There was a leader there. Maybe not naturally born, but cultivated well, and he would be a perfect commander of an army. The fact that Gilgamesh’s own army was starting to refer the as Commander proved that.

But _unlike_ Gilgamesh, he was able to decide quickly which one to follow. He weighed the pros and cons, and decided that being the Shield for Sansa was his best choice. He was practical in that way. It also helped how much Sansa was honest with Cor. Trusted his words and counsel, in a way the king he previously served didn’t. They created a bond all good Shield and Monarch’s should have. A bond he would not find with the king, as he already had his devoted Shield.

Gilgamesh failed in that choice. He loved his king, and thought the best way to help was through a mercy killing. Through standing aside, hoping that his king would see the problem. But Gilgamesh chose wrong. Ardyn was shunned. He was cast out and reviled. Crossed off the ancestry of the Lucius Caleum family tree. Forgotten and only known as the Accursed one. All because of a _prophecy_.

And to this day, Gilgamesh lives with his mistake, forever tied to the life of his King. Even now, miles away, Gilgamesh can feel Ardyn’s pain and _anguish_. Lost and abandoned. His _hatred_ for humanity. And Gilgamesh is too ashamed to approach and bow for the forgiveness he doesn’t deserve.

He lived in the Tempering Grounds for many centuries, long before it got it’s name, alone and left only with his thoughts and the darkness. It wasn’t until almost 60 years ago, when a child stumbled across his cavern, that the silence was broken.

A lost girl, far from her village, saw his weeping, tired form. Smaller, and more human sized than he is now. She saw his agony, and decided to be friends.

Amara was a sweet girl, if you ignored how sharp her tongue was, even at the tender age of seven. She saw his armour, creaking and old, and decided he was called ‘ _Rust Bucket_ ’. Even after telling her his name, she refused to call him anything but that.

For years she visited. Almost everyday. Bringing toys or food. Interesting sticks and rocks for him to view. The curious child demanded stories, making him reenact battles. And little by little, he felt like he could heal. Like maybe, _just maybe_ , he was worthy for something. Even if that something was being a child’s friend.

Then the first opponent arrived. Gilgamesh had only told Amara this, years after the fight, but a part of him was _scared_. He didn’t _want_ to fight anymore. He hated what he became when he served Ardyn’s brother for a time. An attack dog. The best fighter the army had. And now, a soldier found him, demanding to fight. To prove that he was able to stand toe to toe to a god.

It was after killing the soldier. After his rusted armour was slashed with blood, that he realised that all he was good for was fighting, _killing_. Amara found him, kneeling next to the corpse and was horrified. Angry and afraid of her judgement, he scared her away. Threatening death and destruction to her and her entire village if she ever returned.

The look in her green eyes haunted him for years.

She stayed away as demanded, fleeing with tears in her eyes. He sunk back into the misery he hadbegun to claw his way out of. Days blurred until another contender came to fight. And on and on it repeated. Only awake in his mind for the next battle. He never understood what all these soldiers where looking for. What seeking him could do for them. He just saw prideful, arrogant men. Believing that if Gilgamesh was defeated they would be deemed worthy,

_Worthy of what?_

They would speak of him like a god, and in the belief and rumours of him being divinity, he _became_ a god. Aware of the past and the present, seeing the rise and fall of many kings. Seeing wars, seeing the way man never changed. He resented his power. So he sunk into his role, becoming the fearsome, deadly god of war they saw him as. Each challenger losing, allowing him to keep their souls as penance for their arrogance. And with each fight he won, his appearance changed. Taller. Stronger. _Less human_. The armour he wore was less rusted and more golden. The mask he kept on soon became his face. He wondered if he would ever be able to see his true appearance again.

It was twenty years before he saw Amara again.

She didn’t stumble upon him like as a child. She _stormed_ into the graveyard, pulled up one of the many swords and flung it at his head. She picked up another and demanded he fight her. He refused. Of all the people who came, she would not be one to die by his hands. He wouldn’t allow himself to kill another loved one. _Never again_.

Angry at his refusal, she raged and _raged_. Screaming and crying about him being a _coward_. About him pushing her away. He didn’t know how to respond. He thought she had feared him, seeing the death that follows him. But as usual, he was wrong. Amara said he had judged her unfairly, for even thinking that she would ever hate her best friends.

He had fallen to his knees at her words, and begged for forgiveness. Begged for her to consider taking him back as her friends.

“You’re a _fucking_ idiot, Gilly. I _never_ stopped being your friend.”

He stopped falling. He was able to claw back out again, though that didn’t stop soldiers coming to fight. And that didn’t stop _him_ from fighting back. This time however, he _tried_ to judge them fairly. Tried to see if there was _anything_ past that arrogance, hoping that he wouldn’t have to kill them. But no. They just kept coming and each time they were all the same.

But the light in all this darkness was Amara, and by association, the village, now a town, that had begun to worship him. Not like the soldiers he fought, seeing him as a god of war. No. This village saw him for what he always wished to be. A _protector_. So with great humbleness, he took on that role, protecting these kind people from the war that threatened to kill them.

And he got to see Amara again. Though not as frequently as before, but still enough to keep him content. He learnt she was married. A soldier, though not one that wished to fight him. In fact, her husband hated being a soldier, hated violence. He was drafted and got out as soon as he could. Unfortunately, that escape was through a wound of the leg.

Amara visited him a few days after her husband returned injured. He’d never seen her so numb, _so tired_. She asked him if he had ever been in love.

“Once.” He replied. Solemn. Bittersweet. “I still am.”

“Are they dead?”

“No.”

“Do you ever see them?”

“Not since I betrayed my promise to always be loyal. To always protect them.”

“What did you do?”

“I stood aside, as he was made a pariah. He was a _good man_. And they _hated_ him for it.”

“Why don’t you try to find him? Apologise?”

He didn’t respond. It wasn’t the first time he thought of finding Ardyn. For centuries he thought of doing it. Of leaving his self-imposed isolation. But in all this time, _Ardyn_ could have come to find him as well. Gilgamesh took that as a sign of rejection. His king doesn’t want to see him, and would _never_ want to.

So he went on with his life, seeing less and less of Amara as she aged, unable to visit as frequently. And he stayed in his cavern. Only leaving to fight off armies that attacked the town. Until this lonely monotony was interrupted by another soldier. This time though, it was _different_.

He could tell by the age of the boy, by the _tiredness_ in his body. The weary, cold look in his eyes. Like the other’s, he could see that this boy has come for redemption of his pride in some way. But mostly, there is a _desperation_. A _need_ to prove himself, to himself. He didn’t want glory. He wasn’t arrogant, _nor_ afraid. He observed and fought. Better than all the other’s. Looking at this soldier, he could see the potential in him, and Gilgamesh hesitated to kill him.

The girl that interrupted this sacred battle was a surprise. Like Amara, she stumbled in and shouted her demands.

And she did what he should’ve done with his own king. Throwing herself bodily over this boy, declaring herself a queen. And when he _Looks_. When he peers down at this girl and sees her life, her _world_. He understands.

A future queen stands in front of him. And with her, a Shield in the making. How could he _not_ train the boy. Maybe this way, he could finally atone for his mistakes. Create a Shield who understands the true meaning of the title and position. Understand the magic and duty that comes with pledging himself to a monarch.

When training Cor Leonis, he felt a part of him start to come _alive_ again. He felt like he was becoming more _human_. And watching the two argue and discuss problems. The comfort they gave one another, he began to _ache_ for Ardyn. Not just for the need to apologise and beg for forgiveness. But the ache of how much he saw him and his king in this pair. Ardyn _never_ loved him the way _Gilgamesh_ did. He had another love, and Gilgamesh forced himself to be content with what he had, and shoved his love down. Locking it away. Knowing that his love would never be returned.

And it must have festered, with the way he felt a spiteful glee when the woman Ardyn loved died. She was a good woman, and he felt no sadness when she died. But the anguish and pain Ardyn felt, _that_ hurt him. _Hating_ to see the man he loved mourn another, and found himself fall deeper into a dark state.

But if he saw him again. He would only wait for the punishment he deserved, and keep that love locked away as it always was.

This is all he confesses to Cor and Sansa, heart open and feeling like he’s been flayed alive with his _exposed_ vulnerability. He didn’t expect judgement from Sansa, her heart too kind and merciful to reject and hate him. But Cor. _Cor_ he could see hating him. _Disgust_ in his _failure_ at his job, at his duty as a Shield.

The silence that met his story was heavy. Weighing on his shoulders as it has for centuries, but this time, feeling heavier in the face of his friends reactions.

The gentle hand that touches his face, has him surprised.

On the rock she sat upon, Sansa had reached up, and brushed her soft, small hand against his masked face. There are tears spilling down her face, her blue eyes seem to shine brighter, _bluer_ , with her empathy. The shuddering breath he let’s out has him leaning into her palm.

“ _Oh_ , Gilgamesh. The _pain_ I feel from you. It _hurts_ to see you this way. You have suffered so much.”

“Not as much as Ardyn has.”

“But you have _more than_ payed for you mistakes. Mistakes that were made out of _concern_ and _desperation_. You can not keep holding onto this blame and self-hatred, Gil. You are still _good_.”

“ _I’m not worthy._ ”

“The _fuck_ you’re not.” Cor cuts through the sad comfort, rage dissolving the softness of their talk.

“ _Cor_ -“ Sansa tries to stop him but he just marches up to Gilgamesh, glaring into the golden eyes, anger pouring out, unhindered and free.

“You say you are _unworthy_ , yet you have the _gall_ to judge others and deem them worthy or unworthy. _How can the unworthy judge the worthy?_ ” He spits out.

Waving an arm at the cavern around him, “You’ve trapped yourself here, looking for redemption. For _absolution_. You can’t find it when all you do is fight those who are arrogant and _moronic_! And _yeah_! I’m _including_ myself. _No_. All you’ve done is _trapped_ yourself in a spiral of _self-pity_ , thinking you are worthless. _Thinking_ you have nothing else to live for. _But you’re wrong_! Because _so was I!_ I came here to _die_! I set off on this journey to prove myself to someone who _wasn’t worth it._ I would’ve _willing_ died looking for that sliver of _approval_ from someone who _cast me aside!_ ” There are tears of anger running down his face, a tremble to his voice.

With a shaky hand he points at Sansa, still up on the rock, “And then I found _her_. And she stepped between me and death, willing to shield me in a way _no one_ has _ever_ done before. I’ve _devoted_ my time since then to becoming _worthy enough_ to be by her side.”

Taking out his sword, he points the blade at Gilgamesh’s chest, disbelief and rage filled indignation, “And then you have the _fucking audacity_ , to say you are not _worthy_!? When you’ve worked _hard_ to teach me how to not make the same mistakes that you did? You’ve more than proven yourself a _worthy_ Shield with the way you’ve trained _me_.

I would’ve _never_ allowed an unworthy man to teach. _Never_. So you take your bullshit and shove it into you pile of dead bodies! Because what that story has proven to me, is a man who has _worked_ to redeem himself, struggled and _failed_ , and then struggled and _succeeded_. _Over and over again._

All that’s left is finding your king, and explain _everything_. Because you are no longer a _coward_ , _Gilgamesh, Shield of Ardyn, God of the Tempering Grounds and god of protectors._ You are _brave_ , and _ready_ for your _true absolution_ , and it _won’t_ be found in this _graveyard_. It will be at your _King’s side._ ” He is heaving by the end of his rant, his roaring voice making his throat grow hoarse with each final word.

Falling down on his knees, Gilgamesh snatches Cor to his chest, cradling this hurt boy, _his_ boy, close. Because there is no way possible for the god to not see how much he has come to _care_ for Cor, and to see him this _passionate_. _Over him?_ If he _could_ cry, Gilgamesh would. But all he can do is hold the boy close with his remaining arm, and murmur his gratitude.

Shuffling foot steps has him turning to see Sansa is back down on the ground. She gives a wet smile, and tosses her own arms around his neck. A wavering breath leaves his mask, and Gilgamesh thought he would _never_ know this _kindness_ again.

“Not until I’ve finished helping you two.” He promises. They both draw back, momentarily confused by his words before Cor’s words come back to them. Gearing themselves up to yell at him, he hold up his hand, stopping their words in their tracks.

“I’ve waited this long, I can _wait_ a little longer to see him again. Right now, Cor’s training is in it’s final stages, and the Long Night is coming. You both _must_ be ready, and my personal problems must not get in the way.”

Holding his hand over his chest, he makes a solemn vow, “But I _swear_ , on the life of my King, and on the life of my friends, that _I will_ see Ardyn again, and fix what I’ve broken. _I swear it._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Im feeling much better rested now and with it i bring Gil’s Backstory! Y’all thought he loved Amara, but jokes on you he loves the literal plague in human form! So those in the FFXV fandom who are worried with how this world will go, it won’t be through canon terms. Because like i said before Fuck Bahumut and his magic crystal 
> 
> Cor Goes OFF! He is like that vine ‘You are my dad!’ But at Gil. And Gil is very firmly in the ‘if anything happened to Sansa and Cor I would kill everyone and then myself’
> 
> Hope all this flows well!  
> Until next time.


	13. The Shield’s Oath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa arrives at Winterfell, and Cor swears his oath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this feels like it’s jumped all over the place, so sorry if it bothers you.

Sansa had disappeared shortly after, leaving the clothes she bought for Cor behind. When opening her eyes in the bed she laid in, the tears were still fresh on her skin. She never thought that there could be a love so tragic in real life that resembled the songs.

‘ _To love someone, for centuries, and knowing it could never be returned._ ’ Biting her lip, more tearspooled out, and she had the muffle her sobs in the blankets cocooning her. And unfortunately, she couldn’t stay in her tent, weeping over her friends unrequited love. Collecting herself, she sits up, using the blankets to wipe her splotchy cheeks.

Cleaning her face, she dressed in a warm black dress, and left her tent, ready for it to be taken down as they begin to travel further north. Walking through the campsite, she spotted Lord Royce, and having a quick cursory glance around for Lord Baelish, she greeted the lord with a gentle enthusiasm.

“Lady Alayne, did you sleep well?” His face is not made for smiling, but the soft creases of his eyes lets her know he is happy to see her.

“Yes, my Lord, thank you for asking.” She replies.

“I’m sad to see you go, my lady.” And the mournful tone in his voice had her softening, glad that their friendship they struck would hold even as she leaves.

“And I as well. Here,” She held out a folded piece of paper, “The book list you asked for. They’re the ones I love to read in my free time. I hope you enjoy them.”

He gently takes the paper from her gloved hands, and smiles that hidden smile. “Thank you, Alayne. I’m pleased that you remembered before you left.”

“I always remember, my lord.” Smiling back sweetly. Then giving him a curtsey, she turned and left.

As she strode through the bustling camp that was packing away, she made her way to her cousin, wanting to say her goodbyes to him as well. He of course didn’t want her to leave, but in the last month since his mother passed, there has been a slow maturity evolving in the boy. And so he didn’t scream and demand she stay. He cried, but he acted the way it befitted a boy of his station.

The next task was seeing to her horse, as she wouldn’t be riding in a wheelhouse, knowing it would slow them down. She has to get to Winterfell quick, and comfort would be left behind in the looming threat of the Long Night to come.

Giving her mare a soft stroke against her thick neck, it’s a time like this that she aches for Lady. The beloved direwolf would forever be missed, and Sansa doesn’t think she could ever love another animal the way she loved her wolf.

Steps behind her has Sansa turning to find Lord Baelish approaching her. The dark, conniving gleam that is a permanent in his eye, watching her. Smiling, she gave him a ‘ _Good morning, father._ ’

To which he said, “Have you said your goodbyes, Alayne?”

She gave a dutiful nod, “Yes, father. I made sure to promise I would write to Robyn, and I managed to finally give Lord Royce my book recommendations he asked for.”

“Is that what was in the paper slip?” His voice seemed it’s usual, casual, whispery tone, but Sansa saw what he was truly asking. Still, she didn’t let any nerves show on her face, and instead answered shyly,

“Yes, father. Since the trial of Lady Arryn’s death, he approached me to see how I was settling in. We soon got to talking about books, and he gave me some recommendations. I of course wanted toresponded in kind.”

He gave her a piercing stare, before answering with almost a patronising tone, “How good of you.” He knows she is lying, but about what, he isn’t too sure. But he seems to concede, and leaves her be. Watching his retreating back, the usual fear that sits in her stomach when she talks to him curls nervously. She hopes that he doesn’t figure out her plans before they are fully in motion. 

They set off not too soon after, heading North with a small accompany of knights. It’s a long, arduous journey, but with the lack of wheelhouse, it goes by much swifter than the way to King’s Landing when she was with her family.

The weather got progressively colder, the sky a constant over cast of greys and dark blues, the further North they trudged. Sansa, despite the fear from marrying a potential enemy, she can’t help the relaxing shoulder. The terrain is familiar and so is the weather, and she welcomes the biting cold greedily. Somewhere around two weeks they came to a halt, where a castle stood in the distance. Hand out, Lord Baelish led her up a hill and when she spotted the ruins, and realised how close they were to her home.

“That’s Moat Cailin.” She remarks, brows furrowed in thought.

“Looks different than when you last passed through.” Lord Baelish says causally, but the probing stare has her hackles raising.

Hope and dread swelling in her chest in equal measures. Hope at being closer to home, but the dread at knowing exactly why she is going. “Where are you taking me?” She still asks, wanting him to confirm her thoughts.

“Home. To _Winterfell_.”

“The Boltons have Winterfell.” She states, and in his silence, he answers exactly what she guessed. Still, even though she expected it, her reaction is genuine. “That marriage propose. It’s to him isn’t it.” The fear is rising in her stomach. 

A nod, “Yes. To his _son_ , Ramsey.” She wants to throw up. Preparing herself for this potentiality has done nothing when hearing the proof.

“ _No_ -“ She shakes her head in denial.

“-Sansa-“

“-You _can’t_! They _murdered_ my family, _betrayed_ my brother! I can’t _marry_ -“ Sansa cries out, trembling. Her protests are true, and she wants to run. Run far from everything in that moment, because the thought of marrying her enemy-

Lord Baelish’s hands come up, cupping her face, and she holds back the shiver of revulsion at his touch. Firmly, he says, “I won’t force you to do anything. Don’t you know by now that I don’t want any harm coming to you. You’ve been a _bystander_ to tragedy since you were a child. _Stop_ being a bystander.” A pause, voice growing quieter, “There is no justice in this world. Not unless we make it.”

She closes her eyes as he kisses her forehead. His words, no matter how much she hates to admit it, are correct. She will bring justice to her family. Everyone who harmed them. The Lannisters, the Boltons, and even Lord Baelish.

Giving a nod, Sansa asks softly, “Can I- Can I have a moment. _Please_.”

There is a pitying look in his eyes, and a hint of satisfaction at her giving in. “Of course, Sansa.”

As he walks away, she turns back to look at Moat Cailin, her back to the men. She breaths out a silent exhale, relieved that her acting was taken for truth. Though there was truth in the revulsion and fear. Footsteps sound and it’s Cor steps up to her side. She felt him appear around the same time they dismounted for a break, but kept up appearances around the other men. When he stops by her left, he looks at her with concern, grey-blue eyes peering at her. His hand comes up and softly brush against her arm in comfort.

“So you were right. You’re marrying Bolton.” He confirms.

Keeping her gaze ahead, she whispers quietly into the wind, “So it seems.”

Walking around, Cor steps into her view, and his hands come up to cup her safe. Though unlike with Lord Baelish, she feels her tense shoulders relax with his touch. A part of her aches to reach out and embrace him, needing his heat, his safety. But even with her facing away so that the other’s don’t see her speak, they would notice something wrong if she embraced air. Cor seems to understand her predicament, and instead wraps her up in his arms. She holds herself as still as possible as he loops one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders. “Will you be alright?” He asks.

“I have to. I have to for the good of the North, and for the world.” Sansa says, with confidence she can feel slipping away with every word.

Pulling back he frowns at her, “And yourself? What about what’s _good_ for you?”

She closes her eyes, pained at his words. She knows he speaks what she wishes she could do. To deny marrying Ramsey Bolton, and find another way. But they are losing time, and this is the quickest solution forward. “Sometimes, you have to do something you don’t _like_ , to get what you _want_.”

“And that means _another_ forced marriage?” The reigned in fury has her smiling softly.

“Yes.”

Lightly, he kisses her brow, and Lord Baelish’s mark disappears with his welcomed touch. “ _Be safe_ , Sansa. And don’t stop carrying that knife.”

“ _I won’t_.”

When they pass through the first wall of Winterfell a week later, _something digs_ in her heart. Sansa holds back an audible gasp as a wave what could only be old magic wash upon her. It’s cold and warm at once. The castle seems to _sing_ out a welcome back to her as well as a _cry of pure anguish and relief._ The interlopers have _not_ been welcomed by the castle, and a Stark has given it hope. Sansa doesn’t even blink at the mere thought of Winterfell being alive. It always felt that way to her as a child. When she was young and lost, it was like the walls whispered directions for her to follow, reuniting with her parents.

She knows that just passing through these walls isn’t enough to restore it’s fading magic. But the dwindling magic stops seeping out, now that it knows she is here. ‘ _I’m back. And I will fix this._ ’ She swears. And the shivering wave of _joy_ from the castle as her fighting back tears.

But as she gets into the main courtyard of Winterfell, that happiness snuffs itself out. 

Looking upon Lord Bolton, she holds back the _instinctual_ need to grab her knife and _stab_ him. As she dismounts, her face begins to contort into fury before she manages to soothe it into a soft courtesy. A short curtsey, and Sansa greets him with gentle manners. His eyes are a cold grey, assessing her, and she wants to claw them out.

Greeting his son goes about the same way, except there is a _mania_ behind his eyes, just like with Joffrey. If she wasn’t already on guard, she would be now. He is an ugly man, both inside and out, and with a dark thought, she thinks ‘ _I can not wait to kill you._ ’

They are to wed in two days, and every minute is agony. Walking through these halls, familiar but with strange faces, she _aches_. Sansa can almost see the ghosts of her and her family when she was younger, wandering the halls. Playing in the court yard. The looming walls, the tall pointed roof and towers, seem to echo with laughter and cries of joy. She wishes she could smile.

Touching a wall gently, the magic _trembles_ with her proximity and promise.

Seeing Theon again has her numb. At that moment, seeing him shivering and cowering in the kennels, for a second, Sansa doesn’t recognise him. The confident boy from her childhood, this _wretched thing_ _can’t be him_. And so she looks upon him with a blank face and silent mind, and then leaves. Walking away felt hard. She knew that Myranda was taunting her, finding a weakness. So of course Sansa didn’t react. It was a gut reaction built in from being in King’s Landing.

She didn’t rest easy that night, surrounded by enemies in her home. Lord Baelish had left taking the knights of the Vale with them. Luckily she slipped a note to Macel, the knight who helped her after finding her collapsed on the ground in the Eyrie. Murmuring a soft good bye, she tucked it into his saddle when she stroked the horse he was riding. She made sure he saw it, before turning away to say goodbye to the other knights. Best to not make it obvious to anyone watching.

Sleeping in the walls of her childhood bedroom, she felt a gut wrenching sadness and nostalgia. It made the loss of her family ache more, and this must be another cruelty that she has to struggle through in order to atone for the mistakes she made as a child. Maybe if she didn’t tell Cersei about her father wanting to leave, none of this would’ve happened.

Falling asleep, she awakens in the Tempering Grounds, much to her relief. Cor and Gilgamesh stand not too far, arguing about something. Watching them interact has the nerves settle brief, smiling tenderly at their banter. She hates to interrupt though, however it’s been a few weeks since she saw Cor on the hill near Moat Cailin, so Sansa races over to him, desperate for his comforting embrace.

Like the meeting in the field, he staggers back in surprise at her sudden hug, but luckily they don’t fall backwards. Both breathless with relief, they cling to each other tightly. Breathing in the familiar scent he holds, she allows the jumble of emotions disappear for a brief moment, letting guard down.

Pulling away, Sansa leans her head against his, _finally_ able to do what she wanted to when they last met. “I’m back. I’m back _home_ and everything _hurts_.”

“ _Oh Sansa_ ,” He murmurs, soothing his thumbs against her wet cheeks, and she didn’t even know that a few tears had escaped. She basks in this moment of quiet comfort, before gathering herself.

Clearing her throat of the tightness that formed, she straightens back up, regretfully leaving Cor’s arms.

Getting down to business, she looks at both of them, “I’m marrying Lord Bolton’s bastard son, Ramsey. Though he has been legitimised by the king, so he isn’t a Snow. However, Lord Bolton seems to be marrying soon as well. Most likely to have a true born heir. Either way it doesn’t matter. I marry him in two days. _I don’t plan to be married by the night’s end._ ”

Cor nods and turns to Gilgamesh, “Is there anyway for me to be there physically?”

Nodding, “Only if you travel there to stay there _permanently_.”

Rolling his eyes, Cor fold his arms, “I _planned_ to since I agreed to train under you, Gil. I’m not backing down if that’s what you are saying.”

“You will need to swear the Oath to her for that.” The god rumbles, and Cor gets rid of the snark for a more serious tone.

“And am I ready for that?”

Cocking his head to the side, the god confirms, “Since you answered her test correctly, yes.”

Cor splutters, “ _Wha_ -But that was _weeks_ ago!?” Indignant and peeved.

“Yes, and your patience has been admirable.” There is a tone of teasing in the god’s voice, and if he could smile her would, Sansa was sure of it.

In a deceptively light tone, Cor asks,“Can I cut off you other arm, please?”

Equally casual, the god replies, “How polite of you to ask. _No_.”

An idea occurs to Sansa, and she blurts out, “Can I try healing you, Gilgamesh?”

Since finding out about possibly being able to heal people, she has been practising with minor bruises or minor pricks from needles on herself. It was exhausting at first, but she’s confident in her ability now.

However, Gilgamesh just shakes his head sadly, “You can’t grow back what is gone, Sansa.”

Cor pipes up, wondering, “But what if you had the arm? Could she just like, glue back together?”

Gilgamesh full body turns to Cor slowly saying, “...Did you keep my arm, Leonis.” It wasn’t really phrased as a question, and a chill seems to run up Cor’s back with the way he faintly shivers at the god’s tone of voice.

Licking his lips, he speaks hesitantly, “... _Maybe_.”

“ _Cor_.” The god growls, demanding, rumbling across the cavern in echos.

Cor’s hands fly up in a gesture of surrender, “Yes fine! I kept it! One of the main pegs to keep up my tent broke. Your arm is heavy as fuck, so it’s been keeping it tied down for me.” His explanation is valid, Sansa thinks, but the god doesn’t seem too happy about it. But then again, who would when their arm was used as a tool.

“ _Get my fucking arm, Leonis._ ”

“ _Yes, sir!_ ” He scrambles off.

The god sits with his back in a rigid, straight line as Cor holds up his large arm until it meets where it’s been severed. Sansa takes a deep breath, coming in close, and holds her hands up to the meeting of body and arm. Closing her eyes, she focus on her voice, pouring the magic through it and her hands.

She experimented with songs, and found that humming worked well for only very minor wounds. Actual singing healed faster, and songs in the Old Language worked the best. Sansa learnt that the songs Old Nan taught them as children, were songs from before the Conquering of the Seven Kingdoms, before the Targaryens came and forced a different language upon those living on the land before.

All that was truly left of the Old Language was songs, and some old scriptures. Steadying herself, she remembers the words, and begins to sing.

Starting with a hum, she can feel her magic _ignite_ around her hands.

Cor stares wide eyed as Sansa begins with an eerie hum, and the space around her fingers and hands begin to glow faintly, like wisps of smoke made colourful. It slowly twists and forms around the wound, and turning to look at Gilgamesh, he sees the god faintly shiver. And then the words start.

He watches, _mesmerised_ at the strange words that naturally, _beautifully_ flow out of her mouth, her voice a soft caress. As she stands there, her entire body begins to glow with her hands, creeping and spiralling gently up her arms, and around her body. Like gentle sunlight, peeking through the clouds, there is a warmth that follows. He can see the frown of focus, the faint sweat beading on her forehead, her arms softly trembling from the steady magic that pours through her. But through it all, her voice stays in that, ghostly, ethereal tone, the song resonating off the walls of the cave, creating a hair-standing echo.

He feels like he’s witnessing something old, something _ancient_. This not like the magic from the Lucis Caelum line, where the magic is obvious and almost flashy, built for battle. This magic feels alive, like Sansa is just _borrowing_ it from something other worldly.

When she slowly eases out of the song, the glow starts flowing back down to her hands like a stream of water, gently fading. Easing her hands away, the golden light disappearing as softly as it arrived, and she cracks open her eyes. And just for a brief second, Cor saw her irises weren’t blue, but a golden shine. And then she blinks, and they are back to the drown-able blue.

Sansa looks over to him and gives a nod, and Cor eases his own hands away from holding the arm in place. Shaking out his own arms, trying to get rid of the pins and needles that occurred from staying in one position for too long, he peers up at the god. Gilgamesh shifts in place, both of them watching with bated breath as the god slowly flex his fingers, and then roll his wrist. Proof that her magic worked.

“ _Mother fucker!_ ” Cor cries out in stunned awe, he whips around to stare at Sansa, where she breathes a sigh from relief and exhaustion. “You put his arm back.” He whispers with incredulous disbelief.

“ _I did_.” She whispers triumphantly. A tired grin is directed his way, and he lets out a faint whooping laugh of delight. Drawing her into a hug, he confirms, “Yeah, you did.”

Gilgamesh stands up, stilling moving his arm, familiarising himself with it again. He gives a nod of thanks to Sansa. “You did well, channeling you magic. It was smart of you to use a language steeped with magic.”

“Is that what that was?” Cor asks her, curious at the language she sung.

Sansa looks down, bashful, “It’s just one of the old songs Old Nan sung to us. It made me feel safe as a child, and when all the other songs I used in the Common Tongue weren’t as strong, I thought maybe this would work instead.”

“Good job, Sansa.” Using the arm she healed, Gilgamesh gently patted her on the head.

Stepping back, he gave Cor a firm look, “Now. I think it’s about time you swore your oath, Leonis.”

Cor frowns, annoyed, “You were the one who made me wait.”

“Patience is a virtue.”

Stepping forward, he gives the god an almost feral grin, hand on the hilt of his sword, “I’ll show you where you can _stick_ your patience.”

“ _Cor_.” Sansa cuts through their banter, and he turns back obediently. Her face is grave, “I can feel that I will be leaving soon.”

Understanding what she is getting at, Cor nods sternly and unsheathes his sword, stabbing the end into the ground, going into a kneel deference. Looking up at the girl, his Queen, he begins to invoke with a steady voice, the Oath of the Shield.

“I, Cor Leonis, do vow that I will offer my sword to defend your back, my body as your shield. I keep your counsel and give my life for yours. I stand with you through fair and foul, and will never sway from your side. My loyalty and life is yours.”

She lets out a shaky breath and Cor waits for her to let him stand. But instead, she begins to speak, voice just as solemn.

“And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour. I swear by the Old Gods and by Gilgamesh, god of protectors. Arise.”

He is stunned by her words, unexpected and not part of the vow. The promise that his sworn vow is not one-sided has his lips trembling, never expecting the security that she gave. But hearing her calm, commanding voice, he quickly stands at her order. Then he _feels_ it, and by Sansa’s soft gasp, so does she.

The familiar wave of magic rushes into him and he closes his eyes against the onslaught of power that nestles deep into his bones. It was the same way when he took his oath to King Mors and then King Regis. But this, instead of the hot, flame like sensation from their ancestral power, Sansa’s is colder. Like a rush of cool air in the winter time. Crisp and clean.

Holding his hand to his chest, as if he cold touch the magic that’s sunk into him, he feels the connection to Sansa grow stronger. Opening his eyes back up, Sansa has done the same. They stares at each other for a breath, before she disappears like smoke.

Unlike when she disappears before, the connection doesn’t this time. It _stays_. He can feel the faint pulse of her heart if he focuses hard enough.

‘ _Two days,_ ’ He vows. ‘ _Two days._ ’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! gilgamesh has both arms now. And Sansa can heal! Woo! The song she sung was this one: https://youtu.be/KTmatjyd4KM 
> 
> A lot of her songs will be like this. And the idea is that the Old Language is norse.   
> What are all these secret notes Sansa? And Cor has finally sworn his self to her, so he now has magic he can harness.   
> Until next time!


	14. A Wedding and a Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is married for a solid 20 minutes and Cor kicks down a door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: attempted rape

As night creeps on the horizon, and a soft fall of snow drifts downwards, Sansa prepares for her wedding. Pure white dress, fur on her shoulders, she straps one of the two blades onto her ankle. The other goes onto her wrist, concealed by her sleeves. Sansa sewed safety and protection into her dress, and she draws on the strength of her foremothers, cloaking her as she would do with her maiden’s cloak if she had one.

Winterfell’s magic pulses, and Sansa feels the castle croon with a soft kindness. It doesn’t want her to marry the interlopes. Softly, she whispers in the safety of her room, “Don’t worry. They won’t be here for much longer. _I promise_.”

Pulsing once more, magic wrapping around her in an invisible hug, Sansa exits her room. Outside stands Theon, or Reek, as Ramsey calls him. She would feel pity if she wasn’t holding back the anger at him for killing her brothers.

“I’m here to give you away.” His head is ducked down, voice quiet and scared. He holds out his arm for her to take, which she ignores.

“I will not touch you.” Voice cold as the Northern air, she walks past him, uncaring of his plight.

“P-please, my lady. Ramsey will g-get angry wi-with me.” He stumbles after her, words stuttered and the fear is palpable.

“ _Why should I care?_ ” A harsh whisper in disgust, and he flinches back. Satisfaction curls in her chest and they walk to the Godswood in stony silence.

Though posture immaculate, her heart is pounding heavily and thoughts whirling frantically. She just needs to get to the bedding, and then she can kill him. _Easy_. But her nerves doesn’t understand that logic, spinning wild, terrifying possibilities in her mind. She’s already seen her soon-to-be husband’s dark nature. Looking at Theon is proof enough. The man must have gone through harsh tortures to be afraid to be called by his name.

Walking down the lantern lit walkway to the large Weirwood tree, it’s beautiful, and Sansa takes a second to imagine someone else standing at the end. It’s not a hard fantasy, and she steels herself under the falling snow. ‘ _Cor will come_.’ She tells herself, and there is no doubt in that thought. _He will_. She can feel their connection in her chest, and she knows he will come for her when she needs him to.

For Sansa, the ceremony blurs in her mind, going through the motions, not really focusing on the moment. She listens to the words Theon speaks, and she struggles to spit out the ‘ _I take this man_.’ It’s like if she opens her mouth she will scream, ‘ _No! You can’t claim me! You can’t have me!’_ But she must, so it comes out in a nervous rush, willing for this farce of a ceremony to be over with.

Ramsey’s kiss is forced out of her mind, once again imaging the other person she wishes it was. Sansa dares not think his name, lest their connection allows him to know that at her wedding, he is all she thinks about. The mortification would make her die if he knew.

Theon opens the bedroom door, and she slowly enters, knowing exactly what will come. Ramsey’s false courtesies has her fearful of talking, deciding best to nod. And then his continuous demands to know if she is a virgin has her wishing to run out of the room.

The door stays open, Theon waiting to be dismissed. When Ramsey lays a hand on her cheek and gives her a kiss that screams fake gentleness, Sansa swallows back the urge to vomit. Her thoughts are a constant mantra of, ‘ _Cor will come. Cor will come._ ’

“Take off your clothes.” The quiet demand feels like a bucket of ice has been dumped on her body. Slowly she looks to Theon, who bows his head in submission and begins to leave.

“Oh no no. You stay here Reek. _You will watch._ ” There is a sick pleasure in the words he commands. And Sansa watches as Theon makes brief eye contact with her, and the horrified, resigned look she glimpses has her dreading what’s to come even more.

Ramsey sharply turns to her, and that false pleasantry is gone. “Do I need to ask a second time? I _hate_ to ask a second time.”

Looking at how the door still stands open, Sansa turns around and shakily begins to undo her sleeves. She feels the knife under her soft sleeves as she pulls open the ties, hoping to drag this on as long as possible. She then hears the door close and listens to the conversation behind her that sickens her to the core.

“Reek. I told you to _watch_. You’ve known Sansa since she was a _girl_. Now watch her become a _woman_.”

Staring ahead, eyes aching as she holds back her tears, Sansa hears Ramsey’s approaching foot steps. Then with a jerk, she gasps as her dress is torn open at the back, cold hands running down her skin. It’s with instinct that she manages to spin around, and strike with the blade from her wrist.

Ramsey doesn’t expect her to fight back, which is perfect for how the metal slices across his open neck, quick and easier than she expected. There is no resistance in the skin as the blood comes spurting out, splashes against her white dress and face.

His grey eyes are wide, and hand comes up to clamp on his bleeding neck. He gurgles something, but she takes fast, stumbling steps back, away from the door and away from the bleeding out Ramsey. When he collapses at the foot of the bed, Sansa sharply looks at Theon who stares, terrified and shocked at the unexpected violence.

Sansa doesn’t know what to do now, her hands shake on the blade, pointed at the bleeding out Ramsey, who is still gasping, holding onto life. She is screaming at herself to do something, that she needs to finish the job. But she is frozen in place, her legs won’t more except for how they tremble at the sight of the blood dripping off her blade. She can feel the warm blood on her face slowly drying and that has her gagging, finally coming back to life.

Turning the sharp blade to Theon, she hisses out, “Don’t you _dare_ move, Theon.”

He just gives her a frantic nod, staying in place. Though he flicked his eyes a little towards her at that order, he continues to watch the dying Ramsey with disbelief and possible hope rekindling in him. It must be the same numb sensation she went through watching Joffrey die. Relief and terrified fear.

Looking around, she spots her trunk and hurries over, wanting to get out of her destroyed dress. If it wasn’t for how she was just running on fear, Sansa would be angry at how ruined her dress is. She actually loved it, and now it can never be worn again. Though it’s not like she would want to with the way the memories of tonight will cling to it forever. No, first chance she gets, she is burning it.

Throwing open the trunk, she pulls out the first dress she has. Midnight blue, snowflakes and winter blue roses stitched onto the hems and bodice. Gathering the dress and stockings, she turns a fierce look to Theon.

“ _Turn around_.” She orders. At his hesitance, she rolls her eyes, “I’m not going to stab you, though you _deserve_ it from _betraying_ our family and killing Bran and Rickon.” Her venomous has him shuffling around quickly, facing the wall.

Tugging her wedding dress off quickly, sliding her knife back into it’s holster, Sansa pulls the blue one on, glad she made the lacing on the sides of her bodice. It’s as she ties them, Theon hoarsely whispers from his corner.

“ _I didn’t kill them._ ” Sansa freezes, hands stilling on her laces.

“ _What_.” Voice stone cold. A warning.

“Bran and Rickon. It wasn’t their bodies I burnt.”

Sharply turning around, forgetting her laces, she sees the trembling shoulder and cowering body in the corner. Stepping closer, doubt running through her, she whispers again demanding, “ _What do you mean it wasn’t them, Theon?_ ” Side eyeing the now still body of Ramsey, Sansa inches closer, watching as Theon nervously turns back around at her approach

“I let them escape. It was two farmer boys I-“ She’s reaches out, gripping his shoulders, “ _Where_ are they, Theon!?”

“ _I-I don’t know!_ They were heading north, to the Wall!” His blue eyes are over run with tears, rimmed red with anguish, and the truth is plain for her to see. Opening her mouth, Sansa goes to speak, but then the door crashes open, banging loudly against the stone wall.

Both occupants flinch back and Sansa quickly takes out her knife again. But it’s unnecessary. Because in the door way, stands her Shield.

It’s been two days, and Cor holds up the outfits Sansa has made for him. After gaining his magic back, his first test was to see if he still has an Armiger. Turns out yes, that pocket dimension is still there. He ends up summoning a chocolate bar he stored there way before his discharge. He happily munches on it whilst walking for the last time into town to gather supplies.

He bee-lines for the bookshop, barging in and asking the bewildered shopkeeper, “Alright. If _you_ were going to a place that was all medieval technology, and I’m talking _no_ proper toilets, or plumbing system, possibly bad agriculture, and most importantly, no toilet paper. What books would I need. _Hypothetically_.”

The man answers slowly, “Um, hypothetically? I’ve got a few in mind.”

“Good. _I want all of them._ ”

He ended up with a few books on different engineering topics, from basic things like irrigation to making canons and different old war machines. He even found a book on recent law, and figured that would be helpful with adding new and improved laws to the kingdom he would be living in. A part of him weeps at having to give up on toilet paper and AC, but for Sansa, his queen, he would walk through hell if she asked.

And then for a gift, he adds on a book on fashion and design, as well as book on gender equality.

Leaving a richer, but no less baffled shopkeeper behind him, he goes straight to Amara’s stall, having been meaning to talk to her before he leaves.

“Little Soldier, you look to be in a rush.” She looks questioningly at him.

Scratching at the back of his head awkwardly, “Ah yeah. I’m leaving for like, _ever_. And won’t be coming back. I just wanted to say goodbye and thank you for your kindness. Also I wanted to buy some lemons.”

He remembers a brief conversation him and Sansa had, and finding out her favourite food was lemon cakes. Who was he to deny her the right to that?

Her face turns sad, wrinkles becoming more pronounced. “Oh. Well I’m sad to see you go. I will miss the updates on Gilly.”

A huff of laughter, “Yeah. He’s got his arm back by the way.” He adds.

Raising her eyebrows in interest, “And how did he manage that?’

“Uh, _magic_?”

Chortling, she waves him off, “Alright then Little Soldier, don’t tell me.”

Huffing out laughter, a thought occurs, “Hey, I will get him to come by to see you before he goes on the journey to finding his lost lover.”

“ _He’s going to find them finally!?_ ” She exclaims.

Grinning, he explains, “Yeah! Well, after helping me with a few things, but after! Definitely.”

She lets out a sigh of relief, leaning back into her wicker chair by her fruit stall. “That’s good. I’m glad he can find that forgiveness he’s been wanting.”

Looking at her, Cor is sad that he will never see her again. He never had any family, only his father and that wasn’t a good relationship. He started to see her as a grandma figure, and inwardly curses himself for making bonds, “I’m going to miss you, Amara.” He admits quietly.

The wicker chair creaks as she stands up and shuffles over to him. For an old lady, she has a firm hold, and he sinks into her warmth.

“I will miss you too, Cor. Having you around reminds me of my son, Gilbert.” She says back softly.

“Thank you- _wait. Gilbert?_ ” He jerks back, eyes growing wide in amusement, a large smile creeping across his face.

Chuckling, “Of course! Gilgamesh is a bit of a mouthful, you know.” She says with a wink.

Grasping her weathered hands, he stares at her solemnly, “Amara, you are my _hero_.”

That evening he practically skips back to the Tempering Grounds, crowing in delight, “You’ve got a kid named after you! Amara named her son _Gilbert_!”

Gilgamesh’s startled yelp was music to his ears.

On the second day, the day he leaves for Sansa, Gilgamesh hands him his sword. It’s a massive broadsword, almost as big as Cor. Holding the hilt with the blade pointed downward, the god says, “You will need this to summon me.”

Cocking his head to the side, he parrots back, “‘ _Summon you?_ ’”

A nod. “I can’t enter another god’s domain, not physically. But that sword holds a large part of my essence in it. You can use it to summon me and my army when needed.” And then begins to hand it to the boy.

Stumbling back, he splutters, “I-Gil- it’s. It’s _massive!_ I don’t think I can carry it!”

If he could roll his eyes, the god would. “It’s _magic_ , you idiot. Hold it.”

Bracing himself, Cor grabs the hilt and almost staggers at the lack of weight the broadsword has. Sending the gd a wide eyed look, Gilgamesh snorts. “Only you and those I deem worthy may carry it.”

“So if it gets passed down, you will appear and fight them? What if you lose an arm again?” He teases.

The god swipes out a hand smacks the boy over the head. “You got lucky, you little shit.”

Rubbing his head, grumbling back, “Question still stands, Gilbert.”

Shaking his head, “No. I won’t appear to fight them, I will just judge their intentions and the type of person they are.” The god then looks down, as if unsure with his next words.

“I. I don’t wish to fight others, basing them on their abilities as a fighter. Killing those who don’t deserve it.” Cor softens that the god’s admission.

An understanding nod, he gives the god’s arm a friendly punch, “I understand, Gilgamesh.”

“Good. Now when you summon, here is what you do...”

Looking at the clothes, Cor begins to strip down next to the river. A quick bath later, where this time he doesn’t put his head under, not wanting him to fuck up his mental state before an anticipated battle. Scrubbed clean, wanting to at least look presentable for his first appearance as Sansa’s Shield, he dries off.

Pulling on the softer, black long sleeve shirt, it’s looser than his usual shirts, but still tighter than the tunics. the sleeves have thumb holes made at the end, which Cor peers at with mild delight. The tunic he decides to wear is the black one, forgoing the colour for the need to blend into the shadows. It’s most likely going to be night time there, so black would be best. It’s long sleeved as well, but it’s cuffs are a little wide. Frowning, ‘ _I will have to do something about that_.’

Then the dark pants, tucking them into his own boots. He’s managed to get some new socks, so thankfully there are no holes in the ones he wear now. Belting his sword at his waist, he picks up his old clothes and strides back to the cavern.

The fire is going, with Gilgamesh sitting calmly in front of it. Marching up to the flames, he tosses his older clothes in with a long, nostalgic look. Movement shifts on his right and looks to see the god holding a bundle out to him. Gingerly taking it, there are tough strips of leather wrappings on top the thick fabric. Sitting down on a rock, he winds the wrappings around his forearms, tucking the flared sleeves into the leather, and giving himself a pair of arm bracers. The leather comes up and around his thumb and palm, before buckling at the top of his wrist.

Taking a look, he flexes his fingers, admiring the look. ‘ _Kinda badass._ ’ He muses with glee, slamming one fist into the other palm. Then he takes a look at the last thing Sansa made. He hasn’t really taken the time to admire her work, and with every touch of the clothing he wears, Cor can feel the magical protection woven in every seam.

Standing up and back from the fire, he shakes out the cloak and admires the embroidery on the back. In the fire light it’s faint, but on the back of the cloak, in grey and white thread is a skull of a wolf. It’s a fearsome thing, especially on the thick, dark fabric. The neckline has black and grey fur, heavy and soft.

“I understand the skull, but _wolf_?”

“The Stark’s sigil is a grey wolf on a field of white. It’s her way of staking her family claim on you but still keeping your own preferences.”

Cor flushes at the thought of her claiming him, her previous words echoing in his mind, ‘He’s mine!’ Ears read he clears his throat, looking away from the god’s curious gaze. He goes to pull the cloak on, but stops as Gilgamesh hands him the broadsword and sheath. Setting the cloak back down, he straps the large, light weight sword onto his back, and then sweeps the cloak over his shoulder. Fumbling with the latch for the cloak, Gilgamesh steps forward, helping him with the unfamiliar mechanism.

Finished, his large hands linger, smoothing down the fabric. Peering up at the golden mask and eyes, Cor can feel the god’s fondness, and the boy blushes. “You’re embarrassing.”

“There is no one here for you to be embarrassed.” Gilgamesh teases, chuckling lightly at the boy’s flushed face.

Scoffing in disbelief, “Uh yeah. The ghost peanut gallery over there.” He gestures to the left and looking over, a swarm of glowing blue ghosts seem to be watching the almost fatherly gesture from their General. A few are cooing and flustered, Cor flips them off.

The god’s second chuckle has him turning back around, resolutely ignoring the spirits. “They can sense your anticipation for battle. They _know_ you will be calling on them soon.”

“I will, _will_ I?”

“Cor. You are attacking a very large castle that has an army at Lord Bolton’s command. You may be _Cor the Immortal_ ,” Cor makes a face at the title. “But even a large army like that, you will need some back up.”

“ _Some_.” Cor admits breezily. Amusement dances in his eyes, and the god huffs a laughter.

“Oh and one more thing before you go. Anyone you kill with that blade will be added to the army.”

“So, I get to start a pit of my own dead bodies then?” Asks with a cheeky grin, Cor blinks before the god can reply.

He appears in a courtyard, and automatically backs into a corner, hidden in the shadows. Observing his surroundings instinctively, he notes guards doted about in a few towers and battlements. To his left is a larger staircase into a massive, towering castle. It’s frigid cold, and snowing. Closing his eyes, he focuses on the connection with Sansa, hoping it would help direct the way. But then, another magic seems to brush up against him. It’s ancient and powerful, and seems to hum in his mind. ‘ _Could this be..._?’ He wonders.

Touching the wall behind him, Cor’s eyes widen at the pulse that thrums through him, stunned at how alive this old stone work is under his palm. Like an encouraging nudge, it pushes him towards the closed castle doors.

Glancing around for possible observers, he steps quickly up the staircase, and as he reaches the door, it creaks open by itself, allowing the shield to slip through silently. Inside is much warmer, door closing quietly, shutting the biting chill out. Hand on hilt, ready to draw, Cor begins to follow the connection, and the closer he steps, the closer her panic and fear are becoming abundantly clearer.

Quickening his foot steps in mild alarm, he rounds a corner and spots two guards. A millisecond of assessment shows him that they don’t have swords out and they hold a sigil of a skinless man. The castle _screams_ in his ears in anger, and that’s enough encouragement for him.

In quick succession, he draws his sword from it’s sheath and slashes the first guard on the right, head coming cleanly off. Then going with the flow of the blade, swoops around and stabs the other guard through the open mouth. The cut off yell gurgles as the guards fall down.

Pulling the blade out with a sharp yank, he doesn’t dawdle, heading further in the direction of Sansa. He deals with five more guards before reaching the room that holds his queen.

Taking a step back in preparation, he strides two powerful steps forward and lifts his leg up, kicking the wooden door open. With a bang, it ricochets off of the stone wall, and Cor sets his leg down.

Sansa stands, looking relatively unharmed with and sketchy looking man by her side. Narrowing his eyes, he points his blade at the man. “Friend or enemy?”

“...Friend.” She hesitates, but he figures there must be more to the story. However, now is not the time.

Giving a sharp nod, Cor strides into the room, closing the door quickly behind him. Taking an assessment of the room, he spots a white bundle of fabric tossed to the side and a dead man.

Raising an eyebrow at Sansa, “That your husband?”

“ _Yes_.” She looks pale, and giving her a look of concern, she just shakes her head. Letting that be, Cor gives her a proud smile.

“ _Good_.” Scanning the other man, looking for weapons and coming up with none, he gives a run down of the situation. “So. We’ve got _three_ of us, a dead body, and an _entire_ army to kill. Anything else to add?”

The two shake their heads, the man more unsure than Sansa, but he seems to look to her for leadership. Cor claps his hands, pleased.“Great. So here’s the plan...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! He dead! Y’all probably hoped for something more badass, but I thought her cutting Ramsey’s throat was enough. Told you she had something up her sleeve. However, they’re not done yet! Still got the castle to clear before the princess is safe.   
> Also, Cor looking mighty badass here, with his swishy cloak and massive sword.   
> Gil won’t be forever gone! He just won’t always be here though, sorry for those who hoped he would travel with Cor. It’s not his domain, so he can’t fully interact in Westeros physically without pissing off the other gods.
> 
> Until next time!


	15. Return of the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shield, an archer, a queen, and a ghost army all walk into a castle...

They walked down the halls, quickly and quietly, with Cor at the front and Theon bringing up the rear. Sansa, holding a bundle of cloth to her chest, kept pace with Cor’s long strides. They passed a couple of dead guards, which looking at Cor’s sword, she figured she knows what happened to them. The blood pools thickly under their bodies, making Sansa look away, swallowing heavily. It has her remembering the way Ramsey choked on his own blood, hand slick from the liquid splattering outwards.

Shaking the dark thoughts away, she resolutely stared forward, watching the strong back of Cor, wolf skull cloak swaying with each step. The group manages to make it to the front entrance hall, right as the bells start ringing. Freezing, they share a harried look, before hurrying to the main courtyard, the doors swinging open without any of them touching.

Sansa and Theon step back in surprise, but realising it’s the castle, she relaxes and tugs a frozen Theon along. Racing down the front steps, she can hear the panic and shouts of alarm as Bolton men gather arms and try to figure out whose attacking. Most seem to be facing outwards on the battlements, expecting an attack from the outside. This is perfect opportunity for Cor to hand his sword for Sansa to carry.

She briefly fumbles with the blade, before gripping it sturdily. The girl watches as Cor takes a couple steps forward and pulls the hilt of the hidden sword out from under his cloak. Sansa’s eyes widen at the sight of Gilgamesh’s broadsword in Cor’s hands, and watches in wonderment as he grabs the hilt with both hands and slams the blade into the stone below them. Like the courtyard was made of grass instead of hard stone, it slides into the ground easily, stopping halfway in.

Distantly she can feel the peeved castle grumble in annoyance, but Sansa is transfixed as a singular wave of blue light pulses outward from the sword. And then the night goes still. Like all the enemies have stopped dead in their tracks. All she can hear is the faint blow of the wind around them. It’s unsettling as it is amazing. Sansa can _feel_ the magic pouring outward, and the castle seems to feeding the sword some magic as well, adding power to the summoning. 

“ _Gilgamesh, I summon the soldiers of the Tempering Grounds to heed my command._ ” She hears Cor murmur faintly though it could be a shout with how quiet everything else is.

And then. Blue light seeps from the ground around the sword, outward like a roll of mist on hills and mountains. Spreading out and taking shape. Soldiers, one by one, arise from the mist, taking solid form, but that eerie blue glow still remains around the dead men. It’s a chilling scene as they look to be clawing themselves out of the mist, silent and terrifying. 

Hundreds of spirits surround them, ready to defend and attack on command, with Cor in the centre of the army. Standing up, he leaves the sword in the ground, and begins to command the troops.

“Kill all soldiers with the banner of the flayed man. Any who lay down their swords in surrender shall be taken captive. Those that fight, _may die._ ” His order rang out in the courtyard, and with a nod in unison, the spirits surge forward in attack.

Disappearing and reappearing over the battlements, and around the yard, they flicker with blue light, attack silently and with swift blades. Like wisps of smoke, nothing pierces them, but their own swords stab the living. There are screams of terror from the enemies, and some plead for mercy. Cor turns back to Sansa, hand out, which she dutifully hands his blade back. Looking behind her, Theon stares at Cor in horrified awe, which seems to be the appropriate reaction to meeting Cor.

Ready to start the next phase of the plan, a female voice cuts through, “Don’t you fucking move.”

Twisting around, Myranda stands to their left, bow drawn and ready to fire. The instant Cor spots the enemy, Sansa is quickly pushed behind him. She is taut with tension, ready to run if need be, and a part of her wants to grab Cor’s cloak in a childish desire for comfort. She withstands that desire though, knowing he shouldn’t be hindered if he needs to fight. The stand off if tense as the Bolton men fight the dead around them, screams echoing around them. Sansa peeks around Cor’s shoulder, making sure to stay out of line of attack. Cor’s blade is held up in defence.

Myranda looks manic, an insane gleam in her eye, but her hand is steady and arms do not waver from their pose of attack. Flicking her eyes from Cor, to Theon, which gets a sneer of disgust, and then to Sansa, to which she commands in that horrid, high voice of hers, “Where is Ramsey?”

Chin tilted up, Sansa answers firmly but with vicious satisfaction, “Dead. I killed him.”

The girl laughs in disbelief, looking Sansa up and down. “ _You_? Kill Ramsey? Impossible.” She lets out another wild laughter, and with her momentarily distracted, Cor murmurs to her, “Friend or enemy?”

Looking at the other girl in distaste, Sansa replies, “Enemy.” He doesn’t need to be told twice. Striding up to her, with his entire body screaming predator, Myranda stumbles back in shock at the advancing man, not expecting such a forward attack. She releases her arrow, and a scream is stuck in Sansa’s throat, frightened for her Shield. However, Cor’s blade moves like lightning, and with in one blink and the next, the arrow had been cut in half mid-air.

Myranda has no time to react before Cor’s blade is stabbed through her chest. Gasping in pain and shock, Myranda stares wide eyed, before slumping to the ground, blade pulling out with a wet shlick. Sansa lets out a breath of relief. She truly hated that girl.

Turning back around to face her and Theon, blade still gleaming, Cor directs Theon, “You said you’re an archer. Get her bow and arrows, and get up on the battlements. When you see the Knights of the Vale, hang the banner.” Cor gestures to Sansa, who hurriedly moves over the Theon, giving the bundle of fabric she’s been carrying. For a split second he hesitates, before giving a firm nod, and takes it from her arms.

She spots a sliver of the old Theon in his posture and movements. Confident and skilled as he takes the bow, testing the sting, and then pulling the quiver of arrows over his shoulder. His motions are familiar and steady. Looking back he gives both of them a nod. “Be safe, Sansa.” He whispers, and then disappears into the shadows.

The remaining two watch him leave, “Can we trust him?” Cor quietly asks. Sansa gives him a confirming nod. There is too much to explain and too little time. When the battle is won, she will sit down with Theon, and they will talk. But for now, she knows she can trust him with this task. The desperate eagerness to redeem himself is enough to encourage him to complete his job. “Alright.” He breaths. 

Then, with that last word, he summons two ghosts, “They will keep you safe when you send the message to Lord Royce.” He explains to Sansa, before giving a stern look to the ghosts. They nervously salute Cor, which has her stifling a giggle.

As she steps to follow them, Cor’s hand grasps her arm and pulls her close. The embrace is almost suffocating with how tight it is, but she accepts it willingly. “Be safe.” He murmurs in her ear. “You too.” Pulling back, she rests her head on his, and the confidence in his eyes has her rallying her own.

‘ _I can do this._ ’ She thinks with strength, and then pulls away. One last look back, and Sansa is running to the tower with the rookery, the two ghost guards quickly following behind.

Cor watches her retreating back, hands clenching and unclenching in anxiety, before steeling himself. He has a job to do, and standing still won’t get him anywhere. Turning back to the main castle, he strides through the open doors, body thrumming with the rush of battle. Guards and soldiers have spotted him when he steps into the large entrance hall.

“Halt!” One calls. He stops. Behind him the castle swings her doors shut, and the large wooden latch board slides down with a loud thump, effectively locking the men in with Cor. However, they don’t seem to see it that way. ‘ _Unfortunate for them._ ’ 

Body relaxing, blade hanging almost lazily in his had by his side, he assess the fight. 12 men, all with swords, all with Bolton sigils. “Surrender or die.” Cor offers.

A few snorts of laughter as him rolling his eyes, barely listening as one of the guards jeer, “Boy. You’re out numbered. Maybe you should put down the sword, it’s not a toy.”

Holding his blade up, inspecting the blood dripping off of it and the way it gleams in the dim candle light, he agrees. “You’re right. It _isn’t_ a toy.” And then he lunges.

Working on instinct and years of training, he charges through the group of men. Short strikes and fast slashes, within in seconds three men are down, the others staring in horror and shock. Flicking his blade absentmindedly, blood splattering onto the floor, Cor quirks an eyebrow at the other men. “Well?”

With a yell, two men come running forward, Cor parries one blade, coming around to strike at his chest, and Cor sinks his blade into the man’s eye. The other has Cor ducking a swing, quickly pulling his blade out and kicking the other opponent in the gut. Falling to a kneel in pain, Cor takes that as an opportunity to strike his head from his body.

Breath still pretty even, he gives the guards a feral grin, an invitation or a warning depending on how you see it, and they all charge.

In battle he goes into a focused state, relying on his reflexes to get him through, as well as his confident skill in the blade. He has all opponents locked on in his mind, counting down with each kill until they are all dead. But through out his fight, this fight, it feels easier than he expected. Either these men were _really_ bad fighters, or having to fight a _literal god_ for the past two months has his abilities stronger than most men. Which is understandable, the god was faster and stronger than any mortal person.

With a last slash, the final guard falls down, and the entrance hall is littered with blood and dead bodies, and in the centre is Cor, barely any blood touching him except for his boots, hem of his cloak, and hands. The stench of death and dying men releasing their bowels is familiar, but _not_ welcoming at all. Humming in thought, he reaches out to the castle, “Any chance you can direct me to Lord Bolton?” Cor asks out loud.

The castle hums back and there are short flashes in his mind. Squeezing his eyes shut at the onslaught of directions, he grumbles out a thanks, and heads off in the right direction.

A few more guards stand in his way, all cut down with fast movements, never really pausing with his mission in mind. He wants this done as soon as possible so that he can get back to Sansa.

Turning a corner, a hallway away from the room Lord Bolton is in, he stops in his tracks. A man stands about eight feet away from Cor, dressed in armour and a sword in hand. This one isn’t like the other knights or guards. His clothes are more refined, and the boy figures that this is Lord Bolton going by the way the castle is screaming in his ears.

Rubbing at them in annoyance, he cracks an eye open to stare at the lord. “So will you willing come as a prisoner, or am I going to have to fight you too?”

The lord narrows his eyes, “Do you know who I am?” And Cor rolls his eyes exasperation. “Obviously, or I wouldn’t be offering you to surrender. Now will you come willingly or not?”

“And who are you to offer such demands?”

”Look can we just fight, please?” Cor admits there is a slight beg in his voice. He really doesn’t want to talk. Still glaring, holds up his sword in readiness. ‘ _At least he takes me seriously._ ’ Cor muses, then advances with prowling steps forward.

This fight takes a little bit longer than with the guards, what with him being obviously a bit more skilled than them. But, he isn’t a god, and Cor takes him down easily, though regrettably having to hold back. The man has to be alive when they win back Winterfell, needing to be executed properly. So with a kick to the side of the knees, which let out a sickening crack, the lord cries out in pain, and Cor bashes the hilt of his sword onto the back of his head.

Slumping down, out cold, Cor takes a breather. All those steps he had to run up were _exhausting_. When his breath returns, he focuses on his connection with Sansa, and relaxes his shoulders at her lack of fear or pain. There is anxiety, but that’s to be expected. Looking back down at the knocked out lord, he crouches and begins to rip a part of the man’s shirt off, and ties the strip tightly around the man’s wrists.

Then with a heave, Cor tosses the lord over his shoulder, and marches back to the main courtyard. No one crosses his path, so he heads through the keep unhindered. Stepping out the main entrance, doors unlocking for him, he sees a lot of men kneeling in surrender around the sword in the ground, ghosts standing guard. A quirked grin, and Cor jauntily heads down the steps, dumping the lord at one of the spirit’s feet. “Watch him. That’s the lord of these men.”

A silent nod in confirmation at his demands, and Cor takes another look around. The battlements are clear, but Winterfell is massive going by the map the castle helpfully stuffed in his mind. Turning back to the ghost he questioned, “Did you manage to clear out all the houses and other buildings that don’t include the walls and castle?”

At the dead man’s nod, Cor relaxes his shoulders minutely. The prisoners are kneeling in fear, none daring to speak with the ghosts surrounding them, ready to kill any who fight back.

Hurried foot steps and the tug at his chest has him breathing a sigh of relief at twisting around and seeing a successful expression on Sansa’s face, he grins.

“I sent of the raven. Lord Royce should be here soon.” His queen smiles back.

“Good.” Stepping in close, he offers the edge of his cloak to wrap around her for warmth, and she greedily snuggles into the warmth.

“How long do you think they will take?”

“Well, I sent a letter to Lord Royce two days ago, so they should hopefully be only a few miles away from Winterfell. Maybe an hour, depending on how fast they move.”

Sighing, Cor rolls his shoulders, faintly aching. He had over stretched at one point when aiming for an enemy. “Did you come across any problems?”

She shakes her head, eyes never leaving the kneeling Bolton men before her. There is a stony gaze in her blue eyes, and a part of him saddens at the idea of her loosing that soft kindness to the horrors of life. His arm wraps around her in comfort, and she sighs leaning into it.

“I will have to execute Lord Bolton myself.” Sansa mutters quietly so that none of the men hear. Tensing up, he gives her a questioning glance. With a weak smile, she explains, “My father always executed the men he sentenced to die. He would say, ‘ _The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die._ ’ It was a way to keep you humble. The Starks have always done it that way. And I plan to keep true to the tradition. Though, I would just execute Lord Bolton. I don’t think-“

She stops, seeming to be unable to finish that sentence. He understands where she is coming from. Sansa isn’t a killer. She hates death, and does not wish to bloody her hands. But to honour her family, she will kill the ones who hurt and betrayed them. She killed Ramsey, and she will execute Lord Bolton. But the other men, if they are to be executed, she will not do it. And Cor wouldn’t even force her if she had to. Squeezing her closer to him, he doesn’t say anything, just letting her know he supports her decision, though he wishes she didn’t have to kill to begin with.

“Cor.” At the nervous shake in her voice, he looks down in concern. “I-I don’t know how to swing a sword.” She bites her lip, as if ashamed by her admittance. Peering up at him through her lashes, he gives her a small smile, “I will teach you if you want.”

She nods, a small thing, and looks back to the prisoners, Cor following a second after.

Waiting is boring, and it’s freezing out. But he stands still, and awaits for Lord Royce and his army. Theon soon comes running across the battlements and down some steps. Breathless when he reaches them, he says, “The knights of the Vale are here, my lady. They are crossing the bridge as we speak.”

Standing up straighter, she moves away from his cloak, letting fall off his shoulders. He watches her go from the shy, but friendly girl, to the queen she was born to be. Her shoulders roll back, hands delicately folding in front of her, and with her chin held high, Cor could imagine the crown resting upon her red hair.

Taking that has his cue, he steps back a little, just behind her right shoulder. His hand on his sheathed katana, he takes up the ‘ _to attention_ ’ resting position. Theon, takes up the other side of her, hand still gripping the bow, the man looks nervous, but still ready to fight if necessary. He is still suspicious to the man, but the looks of reverence he directs to Sansa has Cor slotting him in the ‘ _Not enemy_ ’ side of the people Sansa interacts with.

As the sound of horses hooves on stone approach, they watch the reinforcements enter. At the front is a heavy weight man, the man from the trail. Lord Royce, stops his horse, the creature whinnying nervously at the ghosts. The man and his knights stare in shock at the ghosts around them. ‘ _Oh right_.’ Cor thinks, amused, and approaches the sword still in the middle of the courtyard. Grabbing the hilt, he easily withdraws it from the ground, the castle breathing a sigh of relief. ‘ _Sorry_.’ Cor mentally apologises, as he strides back to Sansa’s side.

The ghosts fade into the light blue mist and absorb back into the sword as Cor holds it causally in his hands. As he watches the lord and his men dismount, Cor notices Sansa shivering next to him.

Sansa watches the ghosts disappear, Lord Royce and his men staring at Cor in shock. She keeps her face in it’s pleasant mask hiding the amusement she feels at the sight of their bewildered expressions. But Lord Royce is a practical man, and he quickly adjusts. Dismounting, he starts to order his men to take the prisoners, Sansa stepping forward to meet him.

Giving a short bow, “Lady Sansa. I’m pleased to see you are in good health.” His voice holds a certain relief to it, though he continues to take glances at Cor suspiciously.

Smiling, honestly happy to see the lord, she curtseys, “Thank you, my lord. I’m relieved that you came as swiftly as possible.”

Clearing his throat, “Yes, though it seems my army wasn’t,” he takes a pointed look at Cor before finishing his sentence, “ _Entirely_ necessary.”

“Ghosts can only hold onto the world of the living for so long.” Sansa explains, and the lord looks frustrated with confusion. She sympathises for him. It _would_ be quite startling sight to see for the first time, Sansa knows that she was when she first saw the ghosts dotting around the Tempering Grounds.

“We can discuss this more in private. In the mean time,” Sansa turns back to Theon, “Could you please led the knights to the cells.” He nods, and she spots the hesistation in his posture. Rasing an eyebrow in question, Theon stumbles out, “Th-There are prisoners, in the cells.”

It takes a second for her to understand and when she does, he face becomes stony. “Free any that are not meant to be there, have a maester see to them, please.” Theon gives a more firmer nod this time, and steps away.

Sansa watches him lead the prisoners away, and then turns back to Lord Royce. “Could you order your men to spread out around Winterfell, taking guard and seeing if there are anyone how needs help.”

“Of course, my lady.”

As the lord turns away, she hears Cor step up closer, and then a heavy, warm weight settles on her shoulders. She hasn’t noticed she’s been shivering for awhile, as there were more important things that she had to be focusing on. Cor however, notices everything. Sansa flushes at the gesture, unable to help the way her thoughts go to her wedding, and the way she wished it was someone else who cloaked her. Cursing herself for these foolish fantasies, she banishes them away.

Sansa reaches up to clasp the cloak around herself tightly, and looks at Cor. Without the cloak she can easily see his clothes underneath, especially now that the dawn is starting to creep through the clouds. Dressed all in black, the broadsword now sheathed on his back, his other sword also back on his waist. He cuts an impressing figure. Arms folded, observing the men around her with stern, assessing eyes, it occurs to her how safe she truly feels now.

The castle croons in delight at the interlopers being taken prisoner. A rush of gratitude, and Sansa smiled gently. It’s now the third day since she arrived in Winterfell, and _finally_ , she feels like she can be happy that she is home.

Looking over at Cor again, he meets her gaze, and the gentle smile that softens his features has her heart beating wildly. “Welcome home, Sansa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gilgamesh’s sword: pocket army  
> And yes, the title is a joke on LOTR return of the king, seeing as aragorn also had an army of the dead.  
> Hope the fight sequences were okay, never written them before. Winterfell castle: magic door opener. I promise the castle will do other things besides that, okay. I promise.
> 
> Also, wink wink, cor giving sansa his cloak.
> 
> Until next time!


	16. Explanations and Inventory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kids can’t sleep yet as there is a dead body in the room.

Having retreated into what was her mother’s solar, having been left untouched by the Boltons unlike her father’s, Sansa, Lord Royce, and Cor meet.

Clearing his throat once they’ve all settled in the room, the older man asks, “Alright then, my lady. Could you please explain the spirits that I saw.”

Sansa and Cor look at one another, before the boy takes the reins of the conversation. Stepping forward, he gives a neat bow. “I’m Cor Leonis, and the sword I have is a gift from a god that I know-”

“A _god_?!” the lord splutters in disbelief. He looks to Sansa, and she gives a confirming nod. And then Cor continues confused,

“Yeah, that part seems to shock people. Is it _really_ that unusual to interact with them here?” He turns to look at her and Sansa gives him a firm look.

“Cor, _focus_ please.”

Scratching at his neck awkwardly, and explains in more detail. “Right. I’m from a country called Eos. It’s,” He pauses, and Sansa sees him thinking on the spot, “ _West_ of here. I travelled here via godly magic, and I’m here as Sansa’s Shield. The sword is magic and can summon an army of the dead. It’s not technically my army, more of the god’s. He is the general, and I’m the commander, apparently. They won’t harm anyone unless commanded.” It’s short and to the point. Both give the lord an uncertain look, waiting for his reaction.

Lord Royce is silent, looking contemplatively at the two. He isn’t hugely protesting against her Shield’s words so that’s good. But she can’t help the way she wishes to fidget under his stare like she is in trouble. His gaze is almost like her father’s when she got in trouble with something.

“Is there a way to confirm your story?”

“Besides the ghost army?” Cor asks casually.

The older man, narrows his eyes, but keeps silent. Cor sighs and withdraws the large blade. He looks at it for a few seconds, scrutinising the metal, before muttering under his breath a quick, ‘ _sorry_ ’ and then plunges the blade into the ground.

Instead of the sweeping blue light that occurred when he summoned the army, it quickly spiralled around the sword like a miniature storm cloud, Cor stepping back, and in place of the sword, was Gilgamesh. Though he was smaller in stature, the size of a regular man instead of his giant form.

The god takes a sweeping look around the room and then sighs, a resigned sound. “It’s only been _three hours_ , what the _fuck_ did you two do now?”

“ _Hey!_ ” Cor protests, though he doesn’t seem angry, just annoyed, “We did pretty well, thank you very much. Unfortunately, the Lord Royce here needs proof.” He waves at said man.

Sansa watches the lord blink away his shock and assess the god in front of him. ‘ _He is taking this very well_.’ Sansa observes with a hint of pride. She quite liked Lord Royce, and hoped that this revelation wouldn’t ruin their growing friendship.

Gilgamesh turns to the lord and greets him, “I’m Gilgamesh, god of protectors and the First Shield. I vouch for the boy.”

“And how did you come to know him?” The man asked, though it feels more like an interrogation. The god takes his question in stride and shrugs. 

“He picked a fight.” Cor squawked, indignant at the description of their meeting. “ _It- I didn’t pick a fight!_ ”

“Oh, is that not how it went?”

“Gil, _I swear_ to the astrals I _will_ cut off your arm again-”

“ _Cor. Gilgamesh_.” Sansa glares at both of them. She understands that the banter is their way of communicating, but now isn’t the time for that. Cor seems sheepish at her disproval and Gilgamesh nods, backing down.

The god turns back to Lord Royce. “I’ve trained this boy for two months. He was already a prodigy with a sword, but he needed to know more if he is the become a monarch’s Shield.”

Rubbing at his chin in thought, Lord Royce speculated, “I understand the honour that comes from being a Swornsword, but you talk as if there is something more to that role.”

Gilgamesh hummed in agreement, “In Cor’s world, Eos, there is magic in the royal family. When becoming a Shield the connection that they create is not of regular means. The Oath is binding, and if broken there are consequences. A Shield will live and die for their monarch, but if their monarch dies, so too the Shield. Sansa’s family is from old magic, so any Oath made would be magic too. Cor had needed more training in what that role really means, and now that it’s complete, he is here to fulfil the promises made. It just happens that I’ve gifted him with my sword so he can summon my army.” Finishing his explanation, the lord frowns thoughtfully.

“The army of ghosts?” He rhetorically asks.

“Yes. That one.”

“It seems like an, _extreme_ measure, to use it.” The lord delicately put.

“There is a large war to come. This army will be necessary.” The god informs, a deep seriousness in his voice

Narrowed eyes, the lord commanded, “What larger war?”

“The war against the Others and the Night King.”

When they explain fully, the Lord Royce takes it well after a pause where he lets the information sink in, and meeting each of their gazes with assessing looks. Though he seemed on the fence about magic, he was ready to believe the knowledge of the war that was coming, understanding the seriousness of their words.

After Gilgamesh disappears back into the sword and to Cor’s world, Lord Royce observes him quietly. “Hold old are you, Leonis?”

“15, sir.”

His eye brow raises in bemusement, “Young.”

Cor shrugs casually, “I suppose.”

“Hmm. And you won’t falter from Lady Sansa’s side?”

Meeting the lord’s eyes, there is a cold firmness in them, matching his solemn vow, “She is my queen, and she is my friend. My loyalty is to her and her alone.”

Nodding in approval, “Good.”

He leaves shortly after that, stating the need to see to his men and their prisoners. The sun has started to shine over the tall walls of Winterfell, and Cor sighs, slumping against the wall, exhausted.

Sansa rubs her eyes, equally tired. They stare at one another, eyes slowly blinking and then Sansa can feel her shoulders beginning to shake. Straighteningup, startled and concerned, he moves over to her. She has her hand over her mouth, stifling her heaving sobs, that come out uncontrollably.

Quickly gathering her in his arms, she sinks into his embrace, warm and safe. She can’t understand why she is crying. Maybe it was all that was happening at the moment, she just felt so _overwhelmed_. Married, nearly raped, killed a man, and then a short battle to reclaim her home. She’s so tired and reluctant to sleep because she knows there is so much to do right now.

The servants probably need calming, confused and frightened by everything that has happened. The people who’ve been imprisoned before she came need to be assessed and helped. She needs to take stock of inventory, see how they will fair for the Long Night to come. But the responsibility just feels so heavy on her shoulders.

“You need to sleep.” Cor’s soft voice interrupts her thoughts, and she sniffles, nodding in agreement. She tries to think of a room to sleep in. Her parents room was taken over by the Boltons and until that was cleaned she didn’t want to step a foot in it. Her own room is-

“Ramsey!” She exclaims.

Jerking back, startled, Cor blurts out, “What?”

“His body. It’s in my room.”

Smacks his forehead in realisation, “ _Oh shit yeah_. I forgot about that.” They stare wide eyed at each other, before Cor starts sniggering at their predicament.

Sansa groans, leaning her head back onto his shoulder. It was going to be a long day.

Since they wouldn’t be getting any sleep any time soon, the jumped into managing Winterfell. Sansa was marching throughout the keep, Cor not a few steps behind, taking stock of everything. She’d given back Cor’s cloak, having gathered one of her own from her room. Well, more like Cor got one, she didn’t wish to step into the room with Ramsey’s dead body. Sansa talked with workers and servants, who were short staffed or needed replacing. What jobs couldn’t be done because they had no one to do them. They lacked a steward, as Vaylon Poole was dead, and the only maester they had was the Bolton’s, maester Wolkan. A nervous man, but seemingly willing to help. Finding a steward would be one of the task that needs to be done sooner than later. It would take the load of inventory and an managing the more simpler affairs that would be too tedious for Sansa, who is soon to be running a Kingdom. As for the maester, well. She’s decided to keep an eye on him for now, needing a maester as they lack one.

Sansa also has to send ravens to the Lords of the North, needing them to gather in Winterfell, to swear allegiance and for when she is crowned. As well as discussing battle plans for the war to come. She decides she will have to do that after she has the rebuilding of Winterfell in motion.

She is talking with some kitchen staff, who are giving her estimation on food storage, when Theon comes shuffling up to her, posture still bent over, nervous and unsure. Nodding to the servants, thanking them for their help, Sansa turns to Theon.

“How are the prisoners?” She asks, examining the man. 

He wrings his hands, eyes cast down. Sansa would be frustrated by is behaviour but she can’t. Not with what he must’ve gone through under Ramsey. “The ones we found are with the maester. But there is someone that I think you should see.”

He says no more, so Sansa follows him to the main hall, where many of the people of Winterfell are gathered. They’re there so that Sansa can easily meet them and discuss problems without her having to rush all around the castle. It’s also where the maester is tending to the injured, under the guarded eyes of the knights of the Vale. Lord Royce is there too, discussing with some of his men.

Theon leads her to where the injured are, and Sansa is horrified by their wounds and injures. Catching the eye of a man who is more bone than skin, she has to look away unless she cries from the abuse her people have gone through.

Theon stops in front of a girl, who is curled on her side. Peering down, Sansa scrutinises the girl, before her eyes widen. Gasping in shock, Sansa whispers, hope fragile, “Beth?”

The girl stirs, sitting up on her cot. Her dark brown hair in tangles and she brushes it out of her face, allowing her equally brown eyes to blink up at Sansa. “Sansa?” Her voice is tiny, uncertain. And Sansa falls to her knees besides to younger girl and pulls her into an embrace, Beth clinging just as tight. The younger girl is letting out heaving sobs in relief, and Sansa just holds her close, offering reassurances and comfort. 

Turns out that when the Bolton’s took Winterfell, Beth ran to the dungeons, hiding herself in the midst of the other prisoners, scared out of her mind. She survived that way for a year, stealing food from the kitchen through different passageways she learnt over time. And by the sad cries Sansa can feel from the castle, Winterfell itself was helping her the best it could.

The girl is relieved that her friend is safe and alive, but unfortunately, Sansa can’t stay for long, no matter how much she wants to. There is still much to be done. And Beth, though sadden, understands. Sansa promises the girl that as soon as the rooms are cleared and cleaned, Beth will have one.

Sansa is discreetly wiping away tears when she goes to talk to Lord Royce again. They have a brief discussion on his number of men, as well as supplies that can be brought in for rebuilding. She also asks about possible servants and worker moving the Winterfell if they wish. Lord Royce agrees to look into it, and then asks about what will be done about a certain mockingbird.

“Is he with your men?”

He nodded in confirmation, “Not two days ago he passed by us, of course wondering why we were so far North.”

“What did you say?” Sansa asked, curious.

“That we had urgent business at Winterfell, and that he is welcome to join. He should still be with the men I left behind at camp.” Lord Royce says, tone almost bland and conversational.

Brows furrowed, Sansa sympathises with the man’s hidden dislike. “I understand your reluctance to have him here, but as soon as everything is settled in the castle, he will have to stay nearby until his trial.”

A silent sigh, the lord bows his head in agreement. “I understand, my lady.”

“The sooner things are fixed the sooner we can deal with him, I promise.”

“Then it’s best if we get down to business.” She quirks a smile at his words, his eyes crinkling in return.

Cor had been getting a few strange looks as he follows Sansa throughout the castle. Understandable, as they have no idea where he came from or how he came to be in the company of Sansa. And then there is the obvious fact that he was the one to summon the ghosts, so as he follows behind Sansa, he is given a wide berth. Still, he keeps a blank face, and watches in hidden awe as Sansa easily takes charge of Winterfell. Greeting everyone and discussing their problems, she excels easing their worries and gaining their loyalty. Though it’s not that difficult compared to the terrifying rule that was the Boltons.

He manages to have a quick word with a few knights whilst she is talking to Lord Royce, asking if they could possibly get the body of Ramsey and burn it along with the other dead. Though they seem unsure about taking a command from him, they see that he is close to Sansa, and agree.

That sorted, Cor looks back at the girl, Beth, that Sansa had a heartfelt reunion with. She was curled back up on her cot, and Theon seems to have taken sitting by her side. They’re sharing a peaceful silence, and Cor feels a rush of sympathy for both of them It was clever of Beth to go in hiding, and not many would think to look in the cells. He makes a note to watch out for the girl, seeing as she is a good friend of Sansa’s, and a possible member of Sansa’s retinue. The same with Theon, though Cor isn’t too sure on him joining Sansa’s retinue, as he still needs a lot of healing, both mentally and physically. Still, Cor concedes, the man is a damn good archer.

As they leaving the main hall, out into the cold air, Cor asks, “Do the Bolton’s have their own castle?”

Sansa smiles at some passing servants and replies, “Yes, the Dreadfort.”

“Charming name.” He drawls sarcastically.

Sansa huffs a breath of laughter, “Yes well, they are known for the outlawed practise of flaying people alive. It’s said that they would wear the skins as cloaks.” Sansa’s face twists in disgust, and Cor agrees.

“Who will own the castle now?”

She ponders this over, “Roose Bolton never got to marry Walda Frey, so he has no more heirs. Ramsey is dead, so no one can inherit it. I guess it’s for me to decide.”

“Any ideas?”

She stops and looks around the bustling courtyard, observing her people. “Well first, I’m thinking to send some men there to check over the household, as well as the prisoners I have no doubt are being kept under the castle. But until then, I don’t know yet.”

“Best worry about it after defeating the Night King.” Cor suggests.

Sansa nods in agreement, “Hmm, speaking of that, I will need to send a letter to Jon and the Night’s watch.” And with that she heads to the rookery, Cor dutifully behind her.

The rookery was an interesting place. A high tower, with many nested crows. There was a table with paper and ink, as well as wax for inking seals. Sansa frowned at that, and Cor figured it’s because she doesn’t have her family stamp for the ink.

Still, she scratches out a letter to her brother, or cousin really, and sends the raven off quickly.

“Out of curiosity,” Cor begins, watching the raven slowly disappear, “How many siblings do you have and should I be worried about any of them wanting your throne?”

She starts slowly, “Well. Before-before everything, it was Robb, the eldest, then me, Arya, my sister, and then Bran, and Rickon being the youngest. Then we were raised with Jon, my-half brother, and Theon came to stay with us. Though he wasn’t treated badly, he was technically a hostage.” Sansa admits, a look of guilt crossing her features.

“A hostage?” Cor question, eyebrow raised.

Sansa nods, “Theon is a Greyjoy, and they rule the Iron Island. They tried an uprising a decade or so ago, and lost. My father took Theon as a hostage to keep Balon Greyjoy from trying anything again.”

Cor was flabbergasted, splutter a little, “That- isn’t that what happened with you?” He asked incredulous.

Sansa exclaimed, offended, “No! We never-! I mean, I guess. It could be seen that way. But we never hurt Theon! The Lannisters beat me and-and humiliated me! We never did anything like that to Theon. We treated him like family.” She assures him, but her voice was trembling at the mention of what her enemies did to her. She still hasn’t given him the full story, and when he asked Gil, the god refused to say anything on the subject, explaining it was Sansa’s story to tell.

Cor watches her, and he has to wonder once again what kind of world he will be living in. But at the very least, Sansa and her family never treated Theon cruelly. It was the Lannisters that have his anger rumbling under his skin, and clenching his fists, he desperately wishes to kill them for hurting an innocent girl.

Hand coming up, he brushes her cold-flushed cheeks, and she sighs, leaning into his hand for comfort. Her own hands come up to cradle it closer, and he gives a soft, sad smile.

“I”m sorry for what’s happened to your family, Sansa.”

Giving a weak smile back, she jokes, “Is it time for bed yet?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Beth is here!  
> And yes, I just found out that in the books she was held in Dreadfort. But fuck it this is my story. Anyways, The two dads meet, and Lord Royce decides Cor is alright for a slightly feral child. Gilgamesh is just really tired of Cor’s shit  
> This is more of a filler, sorry, and i struggled to write it but I needed sansa to get started on maintaining the castle.   
> The guards a scared of Cor, and they’ve barely seen anything yet. Also Cor’s type: efficient and attractive
> 
> Until next time.


	17. Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bath, bed, trauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: very minor panic attack, fear of water, discussion of Sansa’s abuse during KL

“Did you know, there never was a Lady of Winterfell, never mind a Queen during the era of the Stark monarchy.” Sansa’s voice could be casual, if the topic wasn’t one that had been bugging him for a while.

They’re in Sansa’s rooms, now clean from any blood or body. It was in the evening and Cor urged her to finally retire for the night. Right now they’re finishing up the last of their dinner when she speaks. He looks up in interest, listening to her words.

“Women can’t rule. Even if they are the direct heir of the previous lord, they will _always_ be pushed aside for an uncle, a cousin, a bastard.” There is a bitter tone in her voice, and she is staring almost too intently at her cup of water.

Cor frowns, swallow the last of his food. “You worry you won’t be keeping your throne.” It’s not a question. He already figured that the people here are so obsessedwith stupid things like gender roles, so this isn’t that surprising.

She looks sad, resigned, as she speaks, “My younger brothers are both alive, somewhere. Jon, he has taken vows at the Wall. He won’t be able to take up the throne. But, that doesn’t mean they won’t try to have me pardon him from his vows.”

Leaning back in his chair, he mulls over her words. “Is there anyway for you to keep it?”

Shrugging, she responds, “With your help, I’ve reclaimed Winterfell and brought justice to the ones who’ve betrayed my family. Many heir are dead, so there are women who will have to take up the title. There is also that the knights of the Vale and Lord Royce are supporting my rule.”

“But.” Watching her intently, and sensing that there is more he prods for her to continue.

Sighing, a mixture of annoyed and tired, Sansa stands up from the table, pacing a little. “ _But_. The northerners are steeped in tradition, and though there are some that I like, they are still not for women ruling, barring the Mormont’s, who are mainly matriarchal. They would argue that I could only hold the throne, until my brothers are found and can take their rightful place.”

“And I’m guessing you won’t stop wanting to find your brothers?”

Shaking her head, “I love them. I want them home and _safe_.” There is a wobble in her voice, and Cor bites his lip. The dilemma she’s in is a hard one. Loving your family, but almost not wanting them to return so that you can keep your throne. It isn’t that she is greedy for power, it’s because she knows how to rule better than a second and third male heirs. She said it herself once, she was _practically raised_ to be queen by her parents. She knows how to rule better than the rest of her family. Logically, she is the best choice, especially with her knowledge of what’s to come.

With a sigh, he pushes himself up from his seat, and begins to clear away the dishes, neatly stacking them. Sansa comes back over, helping. “Well. Guess you will have to prove that you are the better ruler than two children.”

She stops in her movements, looking up at him. There is a fragile expression crossing her features as she murmurs,“Aren’t we children too, in some ways.”

“Yeah.” He breathes, “ _We are_.” And isn’t that just _sad_ , how the North will be putting it’s hope and leadership on the shoulders of two teens. Reaching across the table he grasps her hand momentarily, before pulling back.

Nodding his head in the direction of the actual bedroom, he softly urges her. “Come on, let’s get some sleep. We can discuss this tomorrow. You have a long day ahead of you, and the creepy rat man is coming to Winterfell.”

Gathering the plates in his hands, he starts to exit the room, Sansa calling back in disbelief, “I still can’t believe you call him that.”

“It’s the truth!” He yells, as the door shuts behind him.

Coming back from the kitchen, he knocks and enters her rooms. The fire is roaring now, and there is a hot bath steaming in the corner. Looking to Sansa, who is standing in a nightgown and robe, watching the fire, she turns to meet his gaze as he closes the door behind him.

“I’ve drawn you a bath.” She says quietly. Unintentionally, he tenses at that, looking at said bath. His heart beat has already started to race and Cor clenches his fists, annoyed at his reflexive actions.

Sansa gives him a worried and confused look, coming closer to him. “I will leave you-“

“ _No!_ ” It’s a strangled cry, and his arm jerks out, catching hers. Hie heart is in his throat, and he doesn’t want to be alone in this moment of weakness. “I-Don’t leave.” She stares wide eyed at his panic. His eyes have not left the tub, and his whispered, “ _Please_.” Has her bringing her hands up, dragging his face gently so he is looking at her. He stares into her eyes, and Cor can see the confusion, but it’s the concern that has his walls crumbling around him.

“Cor. I won’t leave if that’s what you want. But I don’t know what the problem is.” He can here the pleading in her voice, trying to understand his almost violent reaction.

Cor thought he had a better grip on his fear of water, but with the past few months bathing in a river, it was almost easier to deal with than a bathtub. Squeezing his eyes tight, trying to block out the sensation of hands on his shoulders and head, he lets out a couple of panic breaths, before responding.

“I. I am afraid-“ Cor cuts himself, almost choking on his words.

“Of water?” Sansa finishes softly, not judging him. He just gives a jerking nod.

“Okay. Do you not want to bathe then?” She asks slowly, giving him an out.

He doesn’t take it, stuttering out, “I do. I-I’m just-“ He wants to be clean. He hates the feeling of after battle sweat, and though it was relatively short and easy, it still is a need. He spent a lot of his childhood dirty, and wanting to be clean but having a fear of water is such bullshit.

Biting her lip, she suggests. “How about you get in, and I will stay with you.”

His fear momentarily is take over by embarrassment, feeling his ears heat up. “I-Wouldn’t that be, _inappropriate_?”

Blue eyes flick away, and a red hue creeps up her cheeks. “As long as no one knows. And it’s not like I will look.”

They awkwardly stare at one another, before he huffs out a shaky laugh. “Alright. Just-turn around and. Hand me that cloth.” He steels himself, and taking said cloth from her as she turns around. Walking, legs unsteady towards the tub, he begins to undress.

Quickly and efficiently, he strips down from his clothes, deftly undoing the leather around his arms, despite the subtle tremor to his fingers. When it’s all neatly folded on one of the chairs by the table, he is standing naked in a room with a girl who is only a turn away from seeing him like this.

He is sure his face is bright red as he climbs into the hot water hurriedly. Unintentionally, he lets out a relaxed sigh at the sensation of heat on his aching limbs. Arranging the cloth to cover his crotch, he clears his throat awkwardly.

“Okay. You can turn.”

Hesitantly she does, and they stare red faced at one another. ‘ _God if anyone walked in_.’ Cor thinks with internal horror. He watches as her blue eyes flick over his exposed chest, and subconsciously Cor curls inwards, shy at being watched.

She seems to notice his self-conscious behaviour and gathers herself. Watching, almost amused at her taking a deep breath, she then marches towards him as if entering a battlefield, face contorted into a firm frown. Pulling a stool from where is sat by the fireplace, she sits herself next to him by the tub.

“What would you like me to do?” Though the flush is still there, she is watching him solemnly, taking his fear seriously. ‘ _If it wasn’t already in love-_ ‘ He cuts himself off internally and clears his throat, stuffing those stupid emotions away.

“I-Talk? About anything, I guess.” He suggests, shrugging uncertain.

She nods, and then begins to recount some stories from when she was a child. He listens more to the sound of her voice than her tales, taking his time to wash his body down. Scrubbing at his arms with soap, he peeks up at her, and smiles her how she is dutifully talking but not watching him. Her eyes are fixed steadily to the side, and a smile plays on her lips as she talks about her family during happier times. Her voice is a sweet, calm sound, and it keeps him focused on his task then the phantom horrors playing in his mind.

It’s as he gets to his head, that she notices him slowing down, sensing his anxiety. “Would you like me to wash your hair?”

He jolts at that suggestion, water lapping up the sides of the tub at his sudden movements. She meets his gaze head on, and wants to say ‘ _no_ ’. But, instead his mouth forms a breathless, “Yes.”

Rolling up the sleeves of her robe, she dips her hands in the water to wet them before moving to his head. He tenses as she positions herself behind him, where he can’t see her. His shoulders are creeping up to his ears without his notice, and when he does, Cor tries to force them to relax.

There is a pause of silence as she waits for his say so. Licking his lips, he nods.

Gentle, small hands run through his hair, longer than the usual military cut that he prefers, and the difference from the phantom, large hands and her’s has him slowly, incrementally, relaxing under her ministrations. A few more times she dips her hands in the water around his shoulders, and then reaches for the soap.

It’s almost a massage at how calming it is with her hands on his head, having him leaning into it. Throughout it all she has kept up with her story telling, and it keeps him anchored to reality. He’s never let anyone this close, almost intimate with how exposed he is. Even when travelling with Regis and his retinue, he didn’t allow any of them close aside from a few side hugs and pats on the back.

This was, pun not intended, exploring untouched waters.

When her soapy hands dip into the water to wash them off, he cracks open an eye. He didn’t even know they were closed as he watches her go to the table and pick up a clean goblet. He is leant against the wall of the tub, one arm hanging on the side of it, the other in under water, hand keeping the cloth down to cover himself. He is impressed with how professional she’s kept her actions. It draws him back to when he strapped on the ankle holster. With the time period they are in, showing her leg like that was most defiantly something not done with practical strangers. But, they’re not strangers now. 

Returning to her seat by his head, she puts her hand to his hair line and begins to pour water to wash his hair out. Keeping the water off his face, she expertly washes the soap out of his hair and he can’t help asking, “Have you done this before?”

His words come out in an almost slur, becoming tired from all of last nights and todays activities, this bath was just topping it off. He tries to blink himself awake, not wanting to nod off in the water.

“My brother, Rickon. I held bathe him. He was more against getting in the water though, protesting quiet violently.” She huffs a laugh at the memory and he cracks a grin at that.

“Didn’t like them?”

“ _Hated_ them.” Cor lets out a breath of laughter at that, a lazy sound.

When she deemed him finished, she left the towel for him to dry off, and retreated into the actual bedroom part of her rooms.

He is less relieved when climbing out of the water than he usually is. Having been so relaxed in the water for the first time that he can remember, he can feel the gratitude for Sansa skyrocket. There is only a lingering of fear he notices whilst drying down and pulling on his pants and long sleeve under shirt, that is left over from the initial terror.

Now he’s just tired and ready to collapse for ten hours. It’s then that he stops, towel in hair, at the thought of sleep.

“Hey, Sansa?” He calls out. Her voice comes through the small gap of the open door, “Yes?”

“Where am I sleeping?”

The silence is telling. He shuffled over to the door, and creeks it open. He spots the girl at a vanity, brushing out her hair. She is frozen and watching him through the mirror. He face is one of embarrassment at having forgotten that important detail. Leaning against the door frame, he smiles gently, watching her blink out of her dazed state and finish her hair.

A part of him can’t help but think how damn _domestic_ this all feels. Cor wonders if this is what his parents were like before he was born.

Sansa stands up and then uncertainly begins to explain, her hands are wringing. “Well. Usually guards would stand outside the door. But, your tired, and you can’t protect me in the day if you are exhausted. And if you stay the night, you will be able to still watch over me.” It all comes out in a nervous rush.

Honestly, though it is a good explanation, it feels like an excuse. Peering at her seriously, assessing her entire demeanour, he can see that under her embarrassment at her suggestion, there is a nervous fear that Cor is picking up from their connection.

‘ _She’s scared to sleep alone._ ’ He realises distantly, continuing to watch her anxious behaviour. Shoulders relaxing, he pushes himself off the doorframe and shuts the door behind him. “Am I to sleep on the floor or bed?”

Blinking at his mild agreement at her suggestion, she looks down shyly, “The bed, if you are okay with that.”

He keeps his face deadpan as he replies dryly, “I mean, you’ve already seen me naked, so what’s sharing a bed to that?”

She begins to stutter out some reply, but it’s hard to tell with how jumbled the words are. Taking pity on her, Cor heads to the bed and leans his sword against the table beside it. Sansa quiets and also approaches the bed after a brief hesitance.

He lies on his side, facing inwards, and watches her crawl under the covers.

He’s never shared a bed with anyone. Discounting having to share a tent, sharing a bed feels different. There are no individual sleeping bags to put a barrier between the occupants when sharing a bed. The amount of intimacy that they’ve gone through in just the last hour has him forcing down a blush.

Clearing his throat, he mutters, “I sometimes have nightmares. So just, if you’re going to try to wake me, touch my leg or foot. Don’t get within reaching distance cause I will lash out. It’s-it’s just instincts.” He feels almost ashamed to admit this weakness, but for her own safety, he didn’t want to punch her on accident when she is just trying to help. He’s done that before.

Sansa nods, understanding. “I have nightmares too. Though, not so violent.” She speaks softly, and Cor has to wonder out loud, “What happened to you? At King’s Landing?”

A dark, haunted look crosses her eyes, and he immediately regrets asking. Hurriedly, he amends, “You don’t have to tell me! It’s already late so, best to sleep.”

He then turns onto his other side, allowing him to have easier access to his sword if there is an intruder. He is a light sleeper, from both being in the military and from living in a house that always had him on edge. He would be able to wake up easily if someone entered the room, and with the way the castle is interacting with him, Cor figures it would wake him up if there was any danger.

He hears and feels the shuffling of Sansa as she gets comfortable behind him, and the sigh of exhaustion that leaves her lips has him wishing he got her to go to sleep sooner. Cor is used to running on a bare minimum of sleep. But Sansa isn’t.

Cor is close to sleeping when he hears Sansa whisper, “They would beat me.”

It’s like all the tiredness escapes his body as he twists around quickly so that he can face her. “ _What!?_ ” It’s a harsh whisper of incredulous anger.

She bites her lip and nods. “The king, Joffrey. I was betrothed to him and at first. I _thought_ he was everything I wanted. And then he took my father’s head, saying it was _mercy_. He would have me stripped and _beaten_ in front of the entire court. His Kingsguard would use the flat of their blades on my back and legs. Sometimes they would use their fists. Never my face. ‘ _I like her pretty._ ’ Joffrey would say, as he watched. Whenever my brother won a battle, I would be beaten. _And Robb won many._ ” There are tears frozen in her eyes, staring at the sheets beneath them, as if too ashamed to look at him.

Cor is tense in horror and rage. It’s pooling in his stomach, and by the gods does he want to _slaughter_ the ones that hurt her. But she isn’t done, and that makes things worse. All he can do is listen with growing revulsion, the candlelight reflecting off her eyes, shining with unshed tears. 

“I had no one. I was _alone_ , no one I could trust. Surrounded by enemies. And I had to _pretend_ I still _loved_ him, knowing I would have to _marry the monster_. And then the maester, Pycelle. He would do these ‘ _inspections_ ’ on me. _Touching me,_ everywhere. And the maids would hold me down when I struggled to get away. And now, the thought of someone touching me, _bedding me_ , makes me want to throw up!” She spits out, he body is trembling, he can feel the blankets shiver with it. He reaches across the gap and lays his hand there, offering comfort. She grasps it like a lifeline.

She took a couple of deep breaths before continuing. “I had threats of rape hanging over me, and then I had to marry Tyrion. And his eyes followed me, anytime I was there. He never raped, but I could _see_ how much he wanted me.”

Bottom lip trembling, her tears begin to shed. “ _I hate it Cor._ ” Sansa whispers like it’s a confession, “I hate what they’e done to me. Because I wanted to have a _family_. I still do. But I just feel so _ruined_!” With a cry she begins to weep, and Cor pulls her across the space and holds her close in his arms.

“ _Sansa_. You are not _ruined_. I promise you that. You could never be.” He whispers fiercely.

She shakes her head, rubbing harsh against his chest. “ _But I deserved it all_! I know I do. I went to the queen, I told them my father was wanting us to leave, and because I went against my family, trusting others. This is my _punishment_ , I know it is! _I just know it_!” Overwrought with the belief in her crimes, he decides that’s the last straw.

Pushing her away far enough so he can see her face as he tells her the honest truth.

He is unyielding in his words, “Okay Sansa, _listen to me._ I need you to answer a few questions and then I’m going to logic the _shit_ out of how wrong your words are. Okay?” Eyes rimmed red, she nods, understanding.

“Right. How old were you when this started?”

Sansa sniffles, “11.”

“Alright. And do you know what your father was doing?”

“He-I think he was investigating why Jon Arryn died. The queen, all her children were bastards, none of the king’s blood, so they had no claim to the throne. But at the time, I didn’t know he was doing all this.”

Nodding, he has her continue, “What happened next?”

Frowning, her hitching breaths start to calm as she focuses on her memories and words, “I didn’t know that was what was happening at the time. He just came in one day and told us we were leaving, and I didn’t want to. I was to be married, to be _queen_! So I went to the queen. And told her we had to leave, trusting her to help. Gods I’m so stupid.” There is self-directed anger at herself and Cor quickly stomps on it verbally.

“Sansa. I want you to listen to me carefully, _okay_?” Catching her eyes, he gives her firm look, to which she nods. Her entire attention on him. “What you were doing was being loyal to your future husband’s family. That _isn’t_ wrong, okay. You thought you could trust her, and that manipulation _wasn’t_ your fault. _That’s on her._ Doesn’t matter if you think you should’ve known better, you were a _child_. She was the _adult_. All of that responsibility is on her. Your father shouldn’t’ve put himself in such a dangerous position, especially when his own children were in the line of fire. He was the adult. He was your father. He should’ve known better. So that isn’t your fault, you just thought you were doing the right thing.”

Sansa listens, enraptured by his words. Taking that as a good sign, he continues, “All the abuse you suffered, it isn’t some _punishment_ for any mistakes you’ve made. That’s on them, the ones who’ve hurt you. It was their decisions, and unfortunately, you were on the receiving end. _Never_ think any abuse is your fault.”

A part of him hates how much this feels hypocritical. But, it’s almost a revelation. The comforting and practically therapeutic things he tells her, Cor is starting to believe that for himself. Taking an unsteady deep breath, ‘ _Truth for a truth._ ’ Cor thinks as he begins to tell her of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I took a brief break, mainly because I woke up dizzy yesterday, and it sitting down did not make me feel better. So I’ve written and posted the chapter today instead! Hooray!  
> And here we see, two awkward teens falling down the domesticity hole without even dating yet. Also, gratuitous shirtless Cor. This is a bit of a filler chapter again, sorry. I’m struggling with which of the northern lords were on the starks side and which betrayed them. Also which ones are alive right now. I have no idea as the timeline is completely fucked right now. If anyone can help, please. I’m going to have to go on a minor research binge for this shit. Gotta right it all down so i don’t forget.  
> FYI, this is literally the most effort ive put into anything, and I’m including ALL of my schooling years.  
> Yo if any of my readers are artists, hit me up i would love to see any of my writing visualized 
> 
> Until next time!


	18. Birth of a lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At 12, Cor was certain of three things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: attempted drowning of a child, fear of drowning, and abuse.

By the time Cor was 12, he learnt three very important things. One, he would never feel whole unless there was a sword in his hands. Two, water was to be feared. And three, killing the ones that harm you is the only surefire way to stay safe.

He didn’t learn all that in that exact order though.

He was born to a mother named Mollis Leonis. She was a kind woman. Soft spoken like her name, but a truly terrifying lady when angered. Dark hair, grey eyes, and a petite frame, she was a walking contradiction. Her body screamed weak, but her intellect was a force to be reckoned with. Though, that is what Cor heard about her. Having only met the woman once, when he was born. She died not too long after due to health complications. She knew her body couldn’t handle carrying a child, but she did it anyway despite her protests. All because she loved her husband.

Garvit Leonis loved his wife. But _apparently_ not to the point of pressuring her to have a child. Oh he never raped her. But he he used other means to convince her. Sweet-talking and making her feel guilty were the more obvious ways. Cor never understood why his father wanted a child, he certainly didn’t act like it when Cor was born. Granted that could be because Garvit blamed Cor for killing Mollis, ignoring the fact that he was the one who kept up the pressure on his own wife. 

There was also the argument that she could’ve left him, but, she never did. Mollis loved her husband so much, that she was willing to risk her own life for his own desires. Or that was what he figured.

After he was born, it took a few years before his father even started to act like he hated Cor. Before, it was almost indifferent from what the boy could remember. Lonely, quiet, cold. That’s what he remembers from his infant days. Cor wished it stayed that way, a far better alternative than the future.

It started with a simple bath. Cor was five. His father always gave hims baths every other day, and they were normal as you would expect. Warm water, soap, lasting five minutes, and then dry time. Quick and efficient. That was the Leonis way.

Cor distinctly remembers his father’s face that night. It was this empty, blank expression. He normally had a cold frown, but this held a dreaded weight to it. Garvit’s eyes were a dark brown, and Cor found no remorse in them as his head was shoved under water.

It couldn’t’ve been more than a few seconds, any longer and he would be dead. But they were a panic filled few seconds. Screaming, choking on warm, soapy water. Arms and legs splashing a struggling to break free. Large, tight hands gripped his head and shoulders, forcing him down. And as soon as they arrived, they left.

Cor was forced out of the water, his father’s voice was panicked and fearful. those same hands that tried to kill him turned him over on the bathroom floor and held him cough out the water he inhaled. He remembers shivering in fear, the towel on his naked body doing nothing against the icy grip of terror that latched around his heart.

Garvit cried and beg for forgiveness, holding Cor tight to his chest, rocking them. In that moment, Cor was too confused by what happened. He thought maybe he slipped in the tub, his father struggling to help him up. Tears running down his cheeks, Cor gripped his father’s soaked shirt tightly, and cowered from the tub in fear.

In his child mind, Cor convinced himself that all bath tubs were evil.

After that, his father was afraid to touch him, flinching back when Cor neared him. Cor could say the same about his father’s hands. This went on for a couple of months, before Garvit eased out of that fear.

And then came the anger.

It was as if a slow dial was turned. From indifference, to fear, to anger. His father soon was spitting abuse, gripping Cor tightly whenever he ‘misbehaved’. Whispering harsh warnings and threats into his ears. The first time he cried around this new person his father had become, was the first time he heard the phrase, ‘Boys don’t cry.’

And that was the starting point of Cor’s own anger.

It was a slower build. His father would lash out instantly, but Cor burned cold, his anger slowly festering. Only escaping when he allowed it. Cor didn’t understand what was going on in his home. All he knew was that any tears were met with fists. The house started to become dirtier and dirtier. Filled with trash and uncleaned surfaces. Unlike what typically happens in households like this, where the parent would be an alcoholic, that never happened. No. Garvit Leonis’ rage was sober and clear. He knew exactly what he was doing.

It was as if, in his arrogance, that Garvit wasn’t the true reason Mollis died. Garvit emotionally manipulated the ‘love of his life’ to carry out a pregnancy that would kill her. It was his fault. But Cor never truly realised that.

Logically he knew, even at the tender age of seven. He knew that it couldn’t possibly be his fault. He was a newborn. But when you are told everyday that it was ‘your fault’, you start to believe. That niggling feeling of doubt starts to slither it’s way into your head, latching itself onto any weakness.

Baths became a no go for him, but showers he could deal with. And then his father went and fucked that up too. It was a hot day, Cor was forced to stand outside and water the grass. He hated it, but hated being inside with his father even more. So he stood, hose pointed at the dry grass with one hand, the other holding a book that he read, keeping his mind busy from the boring task.

Until his father’s shadow loomed over the boy and snatched the book from his hands, throwing it away. Cor tried to protest, cowering back from the hulking figure above him, but large hands pushed him down to the wet ground.

Sitting on top of him, his father grabbed the hose and forced the spray to his face. He was yelling something about ‘doing the job properly’ and ‘punishment for being lazy’. Cor choked and struggled to breath against the pressure of water going into his nose and mouth. He might’ve actually died, if Cor hadn’t managed to punch his father hard in the crotch. The hose fell to the side, and Cor spluttered, spitting out water as he crawled out from under his father’s weight.

His father growled at him for needing to learn his lesson against being lazy. All Cor learnt was that that night, when he went to have a shower, the spray sent him into a frenzied panic attack.

Keeping clean was hard after that.

With the house in disarray, Cor hated how disgusting it was, making it feel like the stench and filth was crawling into his very bones. The shower and his room were the only reprieve from it all, and now he didn’t even have the shower.

It took a week before he caved, shuffling uncertainly to the bathroom when his father was at work. Standing by the sink, he used a wet cloth to clean himself, stripped down and standing in front of the mirror. His body was painted in patches of blues and purples. Sickly yellow and greens fading with the pain they arrived with. Garvit was unfortunately smart in his beatings, keeping below the neck. Cor already liked wearing long sleeves, so it never was a problem to his teachers.

Cor was from the beginning a quiet child, enjoying being by himself, reading then playing with others. He wasn’t unfriendly, just introverted. His teacher’s never noticed his subtle change.

The only thing he could ever credit his father for positively, was teaching Cor how to wield a sword. Stating his intentions of making Cor follow in his footsteps as a hunter of daemons. And Cor took to swords like a fish to water.

It was like everything made sense in the world when he held a blade. Nothing could harm him, nothing could control him. Not when it was an extension of not only his body, but his soul. His father was a good swordsman. Cor was better.

It was during these lessons that that was the only time his father wasn’t this angry, violent stranger. He was a terse man, not taking mistakes and failings well. But he seemed more like a human than a monster.

Only once did he mention Cor’s mother.

“You have her looks and her intelligence. Especially when it comes to that sword.”

Cor grasped his adolescent hands greedily onto that information and used that as a basing point for his entire being. Before learning to fight, he felt like an empty husk. Nothing was truly his, in his mind. His anger must be from his father. His feral need to lash out to survive was because of his father. His quiet nature was a result of never interacting with anyone but his father, never knowing what would be okay to say or do around others. Only remembering the hissed threats of ever telling anyone echoing in his mind.

His entire being became master the blade, focusing his mind, sharpening it. He desperately wanted to be more of his mother’s than his father’s son.

The last straw was when he was 12, nearly 13.

Doing the dishes, his father came home earlier than usual. Cor learnt to never put himself in a position where water was involved, so any chores revolving around the element were always done first. Always.

Hearing the door slam open, and seeing the water his hand were submerged in, Cor could feel the panic rising in his chest, breathless and wild. The footsteps walking up behind him had him frozen, and Cor honestly couldn’t remember why it happened, his mind only remembering the terror of drowning.

As the tight, large hands grip his neck and head, Cor distantly realises that he is holding a knife in his hands under water.

When he came back around, his father was bleeding out on the kitchen tiles, choking out words, wet and indistinctive. Cor’s hand was wet with soapy water, tight around the blade gleaming red. Standing over his father like this, seeing the panic and pain behind the brown eyes. Cor felt nothing. Until he dropped the knife in panic, realisation of what he’s done coming back in a rush of fear.

Falling to his knees, he pressed his hands against his father’s neck, hard as he could. They would slip against the pour of blood, but he held firm. Until his father’s hands came up, and grasped Cor’s wrists.

They were gentle, and Cor let out a choked sob at how it felt. He couldn’t ever remember a time when they were. Garvit didn’t speak, but through Cor’s hazy vision, blurred by tears, there was the unmistakable look of pure relief in the brown eyes. A weak smile stretched across his lips and Cor sobbed into the still chest of his father.

He hated his father. He hated him for how much shit he put him through. He hated his father, because Cor realised that Garvit only taught him how to fight, because his father was too much of a stubborn asshole to kill himself. He wanted his son to kill him, just like how Cor killed his own mother. Covered in his own blood, and dying with relief from the pain.

Cor couldn’t say that after his father died he came upon a massive epiphany on how much Garvit really loved him, and it was all to make him stronger. Cor isn’t a fucking idiot.

What he did come across, after burning the body and cleaning up the scene of the murder, was a large box in his father’s things. Old, dusty, it only had one word on the cardboard. A name. Mollis.

Inside it was pictures, clothes, old knick knacks. A journal. And most importantly, three swords. Katanas. That he was most certainly keeping, he had thought, angry and grief making more tears pool out. Biting his trembling lip, Cor continued to sift through that stuff, and came across a letter.

The envelope was already open, and taking out the letter, he stared in hopeful disbelief. It was addressed to him.

_Cor,_

_My little lion boy, I write this a month away from my due date, knowing that these words can never be spoken, as I know I will be dead. I love you so much. Please always know that. This choice to carry you, despite the caution and warnings, was something I was happy to do. I don’t know what your father may say, but it wasn’t just his selfish need to have a child, to fill what he thought was the ‘perfect family’ he always wanted. I wanted a child too. I wanted to adopt, but he argued and argued that it was a real family that way. I have to say, that by the time you are born, I’d have fallen out of love with this man._

_He wasn’t always so focused on his pride, his imagine to present to the world. I don’t know where this need to have a child came from, but please know, that I wanted you too. The only regret is that I’m not there to raise you. To love you. To show you how much all that pain would’ve been worth it if I just got to see you grow._

_Be a kind boy, Cor. Bravery and stubbornness, even my arrogance, I’m certain you will inherit. But kindness, that is the most important thing I want you to have. I always tried to be kind to others, though I may not have succeeded many times. And I want you to try too. Could you?_

_I leave you my swords, The Genji blade, Kotetsu, and Kikuichimonji. Though your father was a great hunter, I was a greater Crownsguard. My health may not have been the best when it came to bearing children, but I was still one of the best on the battlefield. Use them wisely. They are my family’s ancestral swords, the Leonis’. Hah. Bet your father never told you that! He took my name._

_Live well, my little lion boy. Find happiness, find purpose, and keep kindness in your heart. The world can be a very cruel and dangerous place, but loved ones aren’t too hard to find. I promise._

_Your mother, Mollis Leonis._

Wracked with heaving sobs, Cor had curled around the letter, clinging to the swords in his lap and weeped for nearly hour, forgetting the stupid rule of ‘not crying’ that his father instilled in him at a young age. Wiping away tears, face blotchy and wet, he noticed another thing in the envelope.

Pulling out a picture and a chain, it was a necklace, with a family crest stamped onto a silver oval. A loin with a sword crossing over it’s right side. The chain was long, easily slipped over his head.

The picture contained two people. What he could only assume was his mother on her hospital bed, tired, sweaty, happy. And a bundle tucked in her arms. Him. Looking at her face, he can’t help the weak laugh that cut through his cries. He looked just like her.

When Cor was 13, he joined the Crownsguard, two years below the age limit. But he fudged his age and passed with flying colours.

There were three things he knew with certainty. One, he would never feel whole unless there was a sword in his hands. Two, water was still to be feared. And three, he would keep the promise he made his mother. He would try to keep kindness in his heart no matter how much the world seemed to test him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here y’all go, the awaited Cor backstory™️ It was a hefty one.  
> Mollis means soft or delicate. Origin is latin.  
> Garvit means felling proud, filled with pride, or haughtiness. It’s origin in Indian. 
> 
> Also, weird onslaught of dizziness, so imma head out now.  
> Until next time!


	19. Morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All this, and it’s just the first hour of waking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen girls scare Cor more than creepy older men do.

Warmth was the first thing that crept into her hazy, half-awake mind. The blankets were a warm, heavy sensation, but the pillow wasn’t soft. Frowning, she begins nuzzling her head into it, trying to get it softer, and then cracks her eyes open. A heartbeat then was registered in her ears, and slowly, Sansa started to figure out what was wrong with her pillow. Head tilting up, she blinked, dazed up at the face that meets her.

Cor is equally half-asleep, and looks just as confused as she is. Hair mussed and bleary eyed, she absentmindedly thinks, ‘ _Cute_.’ For a short second they stare, baffled by their current predicament, too tired to understand. Then a loud knock has them bolting up right, eyes wide, horrified. She notes that he has no shirt on, only his pendant and the ‘ _dogtags_ ’ he told her about last night, and her face feels hot. In the bath she made it as professional as possible, but her half-awake brain as her eyes lingering on his well-toned torso. Then everything registries and it has her scrambling out of the bed in panic at the sound of another knock.

Cor follows after, his face is aflame, and Sansa flaps her hands and shushes him when he goes to speak. Snapping his mouth shut, he’s frozen in place, hand reaching for his sword. Pulling on her robe over her shift, she scurries out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Once in the solar, she takes a deep breath to steady her beating heart and force down the flush on her cheeks. Clearing her throat, Sansa walks calmly to the door and opens it.

“ _Sansa!_ ”

Said girl stares in shock at the familiar but surprising faces that greet her, calling out her name in glee. Mouth gapping she stares at Mya Stone, standing in her doorway. “Wha-“ Then spotting Lyn and Ellina behind her, she lets out a gasp of joy. The girls grin and pull her into a group and hug, laughter resounding around them.

After pulling away, feeling breathless with happiness, she quickly ushers the girls in, Lyn speaking as they go, “We just got here this morning. Rode in with the rest of the knights.” She informed Sansa, cheerful demeanour a welcoming sight.

The three girls take a look around her solar, and the panic from before leaps when she realises that Ellina is heading to the bedroom door. “It’s nearly noon, Sansa! Ya need ta get dressed.”

Sansa watches, in frozen horror, as the girl marches up and opens the bedroom door, Mya starting to shove Sansa forward. And then the shoving stops at the doorway as all four girls take in the occupant.

Cor’s back is to them, both his undershirt and tunic thankfully on. He’s in the process of wrapping up his leather arm wraps, as he nonchalantly looks back at them, face calm as he takes in the shocked females. With a tight pull to the leather, he finishes and picks up his sword leaning on the wall.

Marching in their direction, the gobsmacked girls scramble move out of his way, and Sansa, furiously blushing again, follows after him, back into the solar.

Stopping by the door, head down as he fixes his sword into place on his waist, he says, “I’m leaving Gil’s sword here, as I probably won’t be needing it. No one else but me can wield it, but I’m pretty sure you can use it if you need to.” A picks up his cloak that was tossed on the back of a chair and starts to swing it on. If she didn’t know him any better, Sansa would think that this would be a normal occurrence for him. But she does know him better. ‘ _He’s just as embarrassed as I_.’

Nodding, hiding the small smile, Sansa offers, “Shall I store it somewhere safe or just keep it by the door there?”

Cor ponders for a moment before shaking his head, “By the door is fine. Easier access if need be.”

“Alright. Where are you off to?” Sansa absentmindedly asks, reaching out and fixing his collar for him.

He leans forward, allowing her action. “I’m going to see Lord Royce about the security of the castle.”

She smiles at him and nods again. “I will see you shortly then.” Softly, his hand comes up to brush against her cheeks before seeing the other girls, and snatches it back. ‘ _His ears are more red_ ’, Sansa notes with a tiny amount of satisfaction. It’s nice to see such honest reactions somtimes.

With a short bow, he leaves the room quickly, door rattling shut behind him. For a brief moment, Sansa stares at the door. And then the girls behind her make their presence known again by loudly squealing and demanding information.

Cor escapes the room as fast as he can, trying to not look like he is running away from a group of girls. His heart is still pounding in his chest from waking up with Sansa curled up on his chest. He inwardly curses at himself for taking off his shirt in the night. It was an automatic thing he does when he gets too hot in the night. It’s not unusual for him to wake up in the morning with no recollection on when he took his shirt off.

‘ _And I just had to do that last night._ ’ His internal thoughts wail in embarrassment. Still, he keeps a stoic face as he marches through the halls, faintly hearing the castle laugh at his situation. Spotting Lord Royce on one of the battlements as he strides out the main doors, Cor shoves all thoughts of waking up next to Sansa down. It’s something that doesn’t need to be at the forefront of his mind when talking to what is essentially Sansa’s father figure.

Stepping up next to him, Cor gave a short bow, “Lord Royce.”

You would think the change between his word and this world, and the way everyone is bowing at one another would be hard to get used to. And generally speaking, bowing was very outdated in Eos. But when working for the king and nobles being around, it’s not too different. At least when he bows to Lord Royce, he actually respects the man instead of doing it out of polite necessity.

The older man nodded in return, “Leonis. How is Lady Stark?” The tone couldn’t be described as suspicious, but the man is definitely wondering why Cor isn’t at Sansa’s side.

With a shrug, he answers casually. “Currently with friends.”

A crinkle at the side of his eye’s tells Cor that the man is happy with the answer. “Ah, yes.”

“Your doing?”

The lord nods, looking faintly pleased and exasperated, “Lyn, Mya Stone, and Ellina, were servants at the Eyrie. They insisted to come with Sansa when she first left, but the Lady declined. Upon learning that I was leaving to Winterfell, they demanded to come or run North anyways.”

You could almost say the man is proud with how recklessly confident the girls were to threaten to go against his command. If the man was any less than the honourable man he is, the girls could’ve been in serious trouble.

Exhaling through his nose, Cor murmurs, “Loyalty.”

The lord hums in agreement. “Mm, hard to find sometimes.”

There was a lull in the conversation, but it was enough for Cor to pose the question he wanted to really talk to the man about.

Going for casual, “Speaking of arrivals, has Lord Baelish arrived?” And failing, Cor watches as the Lord’s shoulders ever so slightly slump.

“Unfortunately.” There is a growl of annoyance under the resigned word.

Cor grumbled, “Figured. Is he hopefully imprisoned?” He perks up.

The Lord shakes his head and all of Cor’s hope is crushed. “Not until the Boltons are dealt with and the lords of the North have sworn alliance to Lady Stark. She wishes to deal with him when things have calmed down first. She also feels that there still is a possible use for the man.”

“Maybe his head for decoration purposes.” The boy offered lightly, gaining a quirk of Lord Royce’s lips in response.

“I _personally_ would never like to see any part of him after death.” The man drawls out.

Tilting his head to the side, Cor asks, “The moondoor?”

A very faint shrug, as it seems that the Lord isn’t a type of man who shrugs often. “I feel it’s fitting. With how Lady Arryn died, I think he it would be very equal in justice.”

“ _Only_ if I can push him.” A vicious smirk subtly appears on Cor’s face at his request.

The man fully turns to look at Cor, eyes assessing him, and whatever he sees in Cor is something that he approves of.

“I think I’m going to like you, Leonis.”

With an embarrassed hand on his neck, Cor murmurs honestly, “You flatter me, my Lord.”

They then spent sometime discussing protection of the castle and guarding schedules on the walls. As well as the defences needed for when the Northern lords arrive. After bidding a good bye, Cor heads to the kitchens, wanting to snag something to eat before heading bak up to see Sansa, hoping that she has explained the situation to her friends.

It’s on his way out of the kitchen, munching on some warm bread that he spots a man leaning against the hallway wall. With the morning light coming in through the window, Cor can easily discern the man’s features.

‘ _Creepy rat man._ ’ Cor thinks with equal annoyance and long-suffering. See, Cor would be willing to gut the man here and now with all the predatory shit he’s pulled on Sansa, but in comparison to the war coming as well as the possible fight for the Northern crown, Cor has barely any energy to spare for this man and his conniving plans.

Still, Cor stops a few feet away, still munching on his food, and raises a uninterested eyebrow. The lord seems to take this as an invitation to speak. Unfortunately.

“I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you.” Up close his voice was much more spine chilling than Cor remembered. Though it held that annoying, hoarse whisper thing that he does like he is saying ‘ _I hold all the secrets, you know nothing_ ’.

Swallowing his food, Cor drawls out, “Can’t say the same.”

The man narrowed his eyes, and Cor feels smug satisfaction at the irritation he is gathering from the man. The man obviously hates that Cor has met him before, sorta, but can’t figure out how. Lord Baelish if obviously the kind of man who prides himself in remembering faces. ‘ _Can’t remember mine if you’ve never seen it_.’

“How did you come to be in Sansa’s services?”

“Magic.” Cor blithely states, with a tone of sarcasm. “Also, it’s Lady Stark to you.”

“I’ve known Lady Sansa since she was a little girl, so the familiarity is not unusual.” It was his turn to be smug, the man looking like he has an upper hand. Which doesn’t make any sense to Cor. But then again, Lord Baelish is thinking he is talking to a boy whose doesn’t know the history between Sansa and this man. Most likely thinks Cor is just an arrogant boy -which, kinda true- and that Cor is easily manipulated into believing anything Lord Baelish said.

A more politically savvy person would pretend to fall for it, but Cor honestly doesn’t give a shit. He’ll let those who want to play that game do their thing. Cor is happy enough to wield a sword and command troops. It’s what he is best at. Why bother to expand into new territory when there are people who are better at than he is. He is a good liar and can spot dickheads. That’s enough for him.

So Cor rolls his eyes, and responds with snark, one of his favourite weapons. “As someone who genuinely cares about her wellbeing and didn’t marry her off to a rapist, I think the use of proper titles is expected if not welcomed by her when it some to you.”

The creepy man take a step forward like he is a predator luring prey in under false illusions. Which is funny because that’s like a cat trying to threaten a lion. “You believe yourself familiar with her?”

The man is slightly short than Cor, which has the boy hiding his glee as he looks down his nose in not-so-hidden disgust at the man. “Maybe not in the disgusting way you lust after her, but _yeah_. I can say I’m familiar. Now, can we speak plainly, because all this circling around the topic is pissing me off.” Cor asked blandly.

Lord Baelish held a very good poker face, but in his eyes holds irritation. Cor almost preens with aself-satisfied smile, but he keeps his face bored and uninterested.

“ _So honest_. You will fit in with the North with that.” The hoarse whisper tells of a hidden threat, though Cor doesn’t know what. Narrowing his eyes, Cor takes a quick step towards the man, and fakes an attack. Lord Baelish has to step back with the sudden advancement into his space. His cunning look has a faint glint of wariness which Cor takes vicious pleasure from.

Giving a short, fake smile that disappears as quick as it came, and leaving behind is his bland look and tone holding fake cheer, he decides to leave the conversation. “Great. This conversation went from annoying to boring. Have a terrible day, rat man.”

And with that, Cor fucks off happily, though sorely disappointed that he couldn’t see the man’s reaction to the nickname Cor had given him. But, sometimes sacrifices must be made, and in this case, it’s for the desire to get as far away from the man as possible.

The castle was grumbling and muttering, well as much as a castle can mutter, in annoyance at the man residing in it’s walls. Thinking out loud after making sure there wasn’t anyone about, Cor said, “Can you give him nightmares and get him lost for me?”

A warmth of malicious excitement shivered through the castle walls into Cor’s mind, and as he turned the corner, Cor patted the wall fondly in appreciation.

Upon knocking on Sansa’s door, it swung open violently to reveal one of the girls from this morning. She was tall, stocky, black, wild hair, and stormy blue eyes. More of handsome than pretty if you were looking at her for her beauty. All Cor saw was wasted potential for an excellent fighter. She looked like she could wield a broadsword if Cor had to pick a weapon for her.

“Have you considered picking up a sword?” Cor blurts out.

She raises a thick eyebrow, looking unimpressed, “Is that another way of saying your dick?”

Cor chokes, and begins to splutter, “ _What!? No!_ I just asking if you would like to learn to fight!” Unfortunately, his voice cracked in his exclamation, and he can feel his ears grow hot in embarrassment.

The older girl bellows out a laughter, and opens the door wider, tugging him in. He yelps at the surprising strength from her, and stumbles into the room. The door swings closed, and looking around the room, Cor gets an unsettling feeling of being caged. The three girls stare at him with fascination and amusement.

‘ _You’ve fought hoards of daemons and yelled at a king._ ’ Cor internally encourages himself, nervously looking at the potential enemies around him. ‘ _You’ve fought a literal god and lived. Three girls who saw you in their friend’s room is nothing_.’ It doesn’t quite convince him, as he assess the room, preparing for a retreat if necessary. Sansa doesn’t seem to be in the room at the moment.

His hand subconsciously twitches to his sword as the girl who answered to door moves from behind him to the table. There is a blonde girl, and small stature by the door to the bedroom, and another girl with brown hair, tall and lanky, sitting on the window seat on the left. He’s surrounded.

The bedroom door then creaks open, and Sansa steps out. He slumps in faint relief, before taking in what she is wearing. A dark grey dress, tight long sleeves, and then the neckline is off the shoulders. There is a a soft, white fur lining across the hemline of the neck and sleeves. Detailed blue, red, and black embroidery of trees, leaves, and wolves all across the bottom of the skirt. It gives a very flattering look to her figure, and with her hair pulled back in a braided crown, she looks almost godly.

Upon see him in the room, her face lights up and she greets him joyfully, “Cor! Welcome back.” He shifts his eyes from the girls around him cautiously and then greets her in return.

His queen seems to realise the other occupants and then blushes at her mistake. “These are my friends, Lyn,” The one by the window, “Ellina,” The blonde, “And Mya Stone,” The one that thought Cor wanted to sleep with her. “They know about where you’re from.”

Cor raises his eyebrows at that piece of information and observes the girls around him again. Mya gives him a predatory smile, as if she knows something he doesn’t and that does nothing to settle his nerves. Fists clenching, he gives a polite bow, “Ladies.”

Lyn lets out sudden laugh, “He calls us ‘ _ladies_ ’! I like him Sansa.” She gives Cor an approving look, and Cor wishes for nothing more than to leave this room.

Ellina snorts and stands up straight from where she was leaning by the bedroom door, “Never mindin’ the fact that one of us ‘ere is a bastard.” And waves her hand at Mya. Cor feels exasperated at that.

“What does it matter if someone is a bastard, honestly.” He rubs at his temple. Don’t get him wrong, he can see why. Bloodline and inheritance competition would be a nightmare if loads of unattended illegitimate children were running about, but like. Seriously?

“Well, seeing as my father was the previous king, I could potentially be a ruler on the iron throne.” Mya drawls out, but there is an assessing gleam to her eye, as if gaging his reaction to that knowledge.

“Do you _want_ the throne?” He asks genuinely. She rolls her eyes, arms folding as she leans against the table. “ _Why_ would I want it? I heard it’s ugly and uncomfortable.”

Sansa pipes up, “Can assent to that. It is a horridly, ugly seat.” Cor is once again dragged back to looking at her, and he feels a little breathless as she makes her way to his side. To sound horrifically poetic, it’s like she floats to him on a cloud. Elegant as fuck. If he was first meeting her right now, and she said she was a queen, he wouldn’t doubt it for a second.

“How was Lord Royce?”

Clearing his throat he manages to answer as casually as possible. “He seems well. Though Lord Baelish has arrived much to our displeasure.”

He watches as she tenses up, and notices the other girls become more alert with that information. He is gladdened by the fact that they look ready to rip his balls off. Cor would be more than willing to hold the man down for them if they asked. His thoughts drift briefly to Theon and wonders if Cor should make these girls part of Sansa’s Retinue. Give them lessons on fighting and assessing situations, and they would make good guards. They already got the loyalty down, and Sansa gets along well with them. No pointing forcing guards when you could make some with the ones you’ve already got. Mya especially.

“I see. Did you happen to see him?” Her voice was calm and cold.

Cocking his head to side, as if thinking it over, “Well, if you count talking to me as I get my breakfast, then yes. I did.”

“What did he say?”

Cor shrugs, not too worried by the conversation that he held with the man. “Tried to find out where I’m from, how I’m in your services, and how close we are. I think he also threatened me?”

She looks mildly alarmed, coming in closer as if to check for any harm on his person. “‘ _Threatened you’_? How?” She demands, and Cor looks at her fondly before answering.

“Said I was honest and would fit in with the North.”

Narrowing her eyes in thought, she walks out of his space and paces a little. When she speaks, her voice holds a casualness that belies her tensed shoulders. “Most likely assuming that your honesty and stern attitude will be easy to manipulate. With the way the South looks down on my people, and the way manipulation is a game to them, Lord Baelish thinks he can find a way to turn it against you.”

She watches for his reaction. Cor figured that was what the creepy man meant, but it was still irritating to know he was right about the man.

Slumping his shoulder, he groans. “Ugh, how annoying. Can’t we just kill him already?” He isn’t ashamed that it comes out almost like a whine. He would beg if it meant getting rid of the man, if he knew that it would work on Sansa. Unfortunately, he knows it won’t.

“That we can agree on.” Mya grins, and Cor can’t help the subtle twitch at his lips.

Okay, so maybe the girls weren’t too bad. But they _still_ terrified him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’m back. It’s been a couple of days, trying to do a little self-care. So, once again, a little bit of a filler, but I’m going to get to the good shit soon, promise. Also, bam! Waking up next to one another, how romantic! And i will write Sansa’s reaction to Cor’s shitty childhood. Promise.
> 
> Also, they fabulous eyrie girls are back! And this time, they are terrifying Cor. Listen, teen girls are scary. Cor isn’t equipped to handle it.
> 
> And Cor met littlefinger. I’mma be real with y’all, I have no fucking idea on how to write the man, so if he seems weird or whatever, just know it’s because i can’t write the character. I’m no good with shady people, I’m too much of an honset person to write a liar like him. Political schemes whomst?
> 
> Until next time!


	20. Rituals and Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The castle demands a sacrifice.

After Cor had left, Sansa was bombarded with questions from her friends, which she managed to valiantly answer despite how red her face was. After explaining that, no she didn’t bed him, and they were assured of her honour being intact, they eagerly asked for more information about him.

To say it was an embarrassing 20 minutes. But it was nice to have her friends again, and it made her mourn for Jeyne and their friendship. But Jeyne was gone. Then she remembered her promise to see Beth again, and started to get ready for the day.

Ellina interrupted her though with a gift from Sara. Apparently, Sara was told by Lyn who Sansa was after said girl had left the Vale, and the seamstress decided to make her a dress as a thank you for all that Sansa had done for the women in the Eyrie. The revealed dress was one of the most glorious pieces of clothing she’d ever seen, and was eager to get it on. When stepping out and finding Cor staring at her like she was something to heavenly to behold, the curl of fondness and love in her gut twisted and turned.

It reminded her of the night before, where he confessed his childhood and death of his father. To say she was horrified would be an understatement. She had held him as he shook from the old pain that he held in his heart. They must’ve fallen asleep out of exhaustion from everything that had gone on from the past few days. Waking up, curled on his chest, she wanted that to happen again.

But that would have to wait until later. She has traitors to execute, a household and kingdom to take charge of, and she needs to call her banner men. A coronation will come, but Sansa would like to focus more on the war with the Night King and convincing the lords and ladies of the truth. Hopefully Jon responds swiftly.

Striding throughout the castle, feeling it hum in pleasure at the true rulers in it’s walls, Sansa remembers the renewal of the magic. Stopping suddenly, Cor and her friends stopping with her, she turns to them and says, “We need to go to the hot springs. And then the blacksmith, as we will also be needing some swords.”

The girls give her a confused look, but Cor widens his eyes, understanding. “I forgot about that. Which needs to be done first?”

“The renewal of the blood magic first. The swords can wait until after.” Sansa decided, to which Cor nodded in understanding.

“I’m lost.” Lyn said, looking between the two, confused. Mya and Ellina nod in agreement.

Clearing her throat, Sansa waves for them to follow as she turns around and starts to head in a different direction. The hot springs, the ones that the castle was built on top of, were in the deeper parts of the keep. The stairwell that leads downwards is located in the cellar off the kitchens.

Upon reaching the stair case downwards, and seeing the darkness ahead, Cor thinks to grab one of the torches from the wall sconces. With a glance at the girls, who seem unsure but steel themselves nonetheless, they head down.

As they move, Sansa speaks. “Winterfell was built on hot springs, which the waters are pumped throughout the walls, keeping it warm. This is also where the stories say that the first Stark gave their blood in return for protection in the walls on the keep. Since then, the walls have offered said protection for centuries, as long as there is a Stark in Winterfell. But when my family and I went South, and my brother’s had to escape to stay alive, the protection began to fail. The saying, ‘ _There must always be a Stark in Winterfell_ ’ was a warning and an oath. The oath was to be the protectors of those behind the walls through the blood of my family. Without a Stark, we failed the oath made. So, I must offer my blood in return for that protection again.”

“Will you have to bleed much?” Mya asked, her usually boisterous voice subdued, concerned.

Sansa tilts her head in thought, still walking ahead, “I don’t know. We will have to see what the castle asks for.”

“What do you mean?” Lyn asks, confusion prominent in her voice.

Sansa stops and turns to look at the baffled girls. They are Southerners. They wouldn’t understand the Old Gods and the way magic is in the very dirt of the land around them. But she cares for these girls, her friends. If they managed to understand and accept Cor and all that came with him, they could understand this.

Pining them with a serious look, the fire’s light casting a dark shadow across her features, and she explains, “Winterfell is old. So very, _very_ old. And magic, when it’s had time to grow, and seep into an object or a building, it begins to grow life in some way. Become _alive_. All old buildings have this. Even some more newer ones in comparison to Winterfell as well. The occupants that live in these buildings unknowingly give their emotions, and personality into the buildings, which start to take on the characteristics.

It’s like places that are seen as haunted. With a large amount of death that occurs in it’s walls, it starts to take on that dark feeling. The grief, and despair from those that died. The anguish, rage, madness. Looking back on it, I could faintly sense it when I was in King’s Landing, that something was wrong with the place. And now that I’m back here, I understand even more. The very castle is alive, and I can hear it, _sense_ it, speaking to me. Helping me.

When I stepped through those gates once more, it practically _sung_ in my bones, welcoming me home. And so, when I step into the hot springs room, I will give what it wants in return for it’s protection. That is my duty as the Stark in Winterfell. There is a war coming, and we will need all the protection we can get.”

With that, she turns and begins to sink deeper into the bowels of the keep once more. For a second, the girls behind her hesitate, but she hears their footsteps following, not retreating. Pride fills her at the courage her friends have, as well as the trust in the words Sansa speaks.Cor is a comforting presence by her side, offering silent support.

At the end of the stairs, there is a singular hallway forward, that when reaching the end, opens up into a large room. The entire place is shrouded in darkness but for Cor’s light, and the eerie, unnatural glow that comes out of the hot springs. The light shows the heat coming off the water, steam rising and disappearing into the black, expansive ceiling above.

At the heart of the castle, it feels more alive, pulsing in time with Sansa’s heart beat. The magic is palpable compared to above, feeling like it’s sifting through Sansa’s dress and hair like a gentle breeze. Closing her eyes, she feels the castle take hold and gently begins to ease her towards the large pool of water. She feels outside her body and in it at the same time. Every move is being controlled, but it’s like a soft, insistant nudge then full possession.

Distantly she hears Cor and the girls react in shock as Sansa begins to strip methodically out of her dress. The white material pools to her feet, leaving her in her thin shift. Stepping closer to the side of the water, the shift comes off as well, pulling up and over her head.

Sansa feels a strange blanket of calm over her mind, only the single-minded focus of completing the ritual for Winterfell ringing through her head. Said castle is humming with energy around her, like thousands of bees moving, swarming, in harmony. Relaxed and focused at once, Sansa feels no panic as she steps into the water naked, in her hand, her blade.

Wading in deep until the water is up to her chest, she brings the blade up, settling it onto her left forearm. Panicked yells are vaguely heard, but the soothing croons of the castle are all she focuses on as the blade digs in deep and she drags it up her arm to the inside of her elbow.

A small part of her mind is screaming in confusion and fear at what her body is doing to itself, but the larger part, the part that is soothed and controlled by the castle feels nothing but peace as the blood pours out into the water.

And then. Her head in under water.

Underwater, she sinks with her eyes open and her hearing is muffled. The water’s glow dims and submerges her into pure darkness. Then, a ghostly white hand reaches out and grasps her face. Suddenly she is back fully into her mind and flashes of faces and events begin to appear in her mind’s eye.

It’s like her head is full, aching with knowledge she has no way of obtaining and her mouth opens, screaming into the water.

Flailing and splashing, Sansa drags herself up and above the water, gasping for breath. She gets a few gulps of sweet air in, before the pain in her head comes back three-fold and she feels herself begins to collapse in the water. The warmth consuming and almost welcoming. But the lack of air is making her choke, struggling to breath.

There is waves pushing on her, not from her own movements, and then she can breath again. Strong arms are wrapped tightly around her waist, and her hands fumble and grasp at them. The weight of the water falls away and then softer, dryer warmth is wrapped around her body.

Coughing and wheezing out the inhaled water, Sansa tiredly rests her head against the body of whoever holds her. Sucking in precious air, she smells the faint, woody scent of Cor. Tucking her head into his neck, she breaths it in, taking strength and comfort from the familiarity.

Sounds start to come back as the pain in her head fades. The memories that never belonged to her settle down in the back of her mind, and she cracks her eyes open.

The cavern is brighter. The glow from the waters is back and seems to weave it’s way into the cracks and crevices of the rocky wall and ceiling. Staring in wonder at the almost star-like view, she still is dazed from the ritual and near drowning as Cor’s frantic calls begin to register.

“ _Sansa_! Sansa, can you hear me?! _Please_ -!” It cuts off in a panicked choke and female voices begin to fill in the empty space. But all Sansa can focus on is the sensation of pure power seeping from the castle, pouring into the walls and fortifying the entire keep. A breath of relief escapes her. The protection has returned.

“I’m alright.” It’s a hoarse murmur escaping from wet lips. And cries of relief echo throughout the cavern.

Opening her eyes again, she can finally take in her surroundings. Tucked into, what looks like Cor’s cloak, she is held in his arms as he sits on the ground by the water. Lyn, Mya, and Ellina are gathered around and gripping tightly at her hand.

Glancing down at it, all three of them have a hand on her’s, feeling for her pulse and life. She feels an overwhelming surge of love for the four of them, and a large smile creeps across her face.

“Thank you. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“ _What in the seven hells was that!?_ ” Mya exclaims.

Blinking, Sansa tries to focus on what exactly happened. “I-The castle, it took hold-“

“ _Possession!?_ ” Cor interrupted, yelling in panic, tightening his grip around her.

Shaking her head, Sansa doesn’t know how to explain that she felt like she _was_ the castle itself in that moment. That she felt so aware of everything around her. Of the people inside the walls, the wind and snow touching every stone and roof. The hot water pumping like blood throughout the keep. _She was Winterfell_. Worrying her lips, Sansa explains the best she can. “Yes and no. I was aware of what I was doing, but I didn’t really feel anything whilst doing it. It was like absolute calmness came over me, and then the castle was moving my body. But, I wasn’t fighting it because I knew it wouldn’t truly harm me. I _felt_ like _I was_ the castle.” The last bit is whispered, almost breathed out.

But bless them, her friends focused on the more obvious problem. “Sansa. It _cut_ yer arm! Made ya _bleed_!”

“I knew I had to give blood. I told you before hand.”

Lyn shakes her head frantically, as if Sansa isn’t understanding the problem “We thought like, a pin prick! Not a massive slice through your skin.”

The girl reaches into the cloak covering Sansa’s body and gently pulls out her left arm, but when revealed, there is no weeping wound. Just a red scar, as if it’s weeks old. Even Sansa stares in bafflement.

“The castle.” It’s the first time Cor speaks after his frantic cries from before. His voice is hoarse and there is still worry carried in it. “The castle must’ve healed you.”

The hum and coo of concern and apologetic guilt from the castle confirms the suspicion. Gently pulling her hand from the girls’ grasp, she lays it onto the stone ground and pushes her forgiveness and understanding through and into the stone. A brush of wind, almost solid twirls softly around her and her friends, before disappearing.

With quick work the girls redress Sansa, Cor relegated to staring at the entrance of the cavern, back turned to them. Ellina lets out a muffled gasp and turning around, Sansa realises that she and the other to have seen the scars on her back. A weak, but calm smile, Sansa murmurs, “I’m alright, don’t worry.”

Mya looks as if she is holding back her rage, and Lyn bites her lip as she helps to tie her laces.

Once ready, they walk back up the staircase, a solemn, contemplative silence surrounding them.The girls seem to still be in some stage of shock, but Sansa can’t blame them. She knows that if it was her watching one of them sink into the water after harming herself, Sansa would be worried too. But Sansa is thinking over what she saw in the water, the memories that were stuffed into her head. It’s only one person’s memories, and she believes it’s the Stark that first gave their blood. Though, they had _died_ doing so. Making the oath and sacrifice, they had to give their life, where she is just renewing magic, so her life wasn’t demanded. Bran the Builder built Winterfell, but some unknown Stark was the one that sacrificed themselves for true protection

‘ _The hand_.’ Her mind mutters, and she lets out a shiver. The ghastly white hand. Sansa had a horrified feeling that it was the previous Stark. Taking deep breaths, Sansa puts on her steel mask and strides through the halls of the castle, feeling it’s power thrumming tenfold since the ritual.

She heads in the direction of the blacksmith, needing swords. It was an old story Old Nan told them, that the swords the Starks are buried with, they will pick up again when the time comes. Whether that means that they will reanimate to protect Winterfell when the time comes, or their ghosts will defend them somehow. One way or another, the protection has been ruined. Three swords are missing from the tombs. The castle had showed her which ones, and that her younger brothers took them when escaping. It’s understandable, but now, the residents inside Winterfell are possibly in danger.

An enemy who can bring back the dead, Sansa wouldn’t want him to be doing that with her dead ancestors who are meant to protect not kill. So as she enters the forge, the blacksmith spotting her and nervously stands from his work station.

Mikken had died when Winterfell was taken over. Now there is a younger man, though still much older than her, in his place. A Bolton man, but he seems to pose no threat at the moment. Stepping close, she gives a kind smile as he bows.

“Your name is Cal, correct?” Always best to know the names of those who work for and under you. Acknowledgement of your people is the first step towards gaining their loyalty. 

Wringing his hands, the man utters softly, “Yes, m’lady.”

Keeping her voice kind, Sansa requests, “I’m in need of your help. I need three swords, already made.” At the man’s confused look, she elaborated, “Three of my ancestors tombs have lost the swords they were buried with. I wish to replace them, if possible.”

Though confused at her request, he bows and agrees. “Of course, m’lady. If you could wait as I collect them?”

At her nod, he scurries off deeper into the forge. When waiting Ellina leans in, “Ya won’t ‘ave to bleed this time, right?”

Huffing softly, a smile playing on her lips, Sansa shakes her head. “Don’t worry. This only calls for some words and looking at bones.”

“Well,” Cor begins, and internally Sansa relaxes in relief. He had been silent since his last words in the cavern, and Sansa was worrying that her almost drowning as scared him. It must’ve been difficult for him to wade into water for her, but none the less, she is glad he did. But the silence was unsettling, and the terrified part of her was waiting for him to revoke his words of loyalty and run away. It was stupid of her to think, but she couldn’t help the way her mind spiralled at the thought of him leaving her side.

But he speaks, and his normal, sarcastic words bring comfort. “Digging around in corpses is something I can definitely handle.”

A teasing smile across her face, she turns to him, “Had experience, Cor?” Question is rhetorical. With where he lived before, of course he has.

With a flat expression, though mirth behind his eyes, he drawls out, “Gil liked to toss me into his corpse pit.”

Lyn screws up her nose in disgust, Ellina joining in by sticking her tongue out at the gross imagery. Mya though chuckled. “And why would your god do that?”

“I beat him at cards.” Cor dead-panned, sending Sansa into a small fit of giggles.

After Cal comes shuffling over with the requested swords, Mya volunteering to hold them for her, Sansa and her group heads off to the crypts. Stopping at her father’s tomb, the first one that was broken into, she takes one of the swords that Mya was holding and kneels down. Sword held flat in both hands, Sansa intones, speaking magic into her words.

“ _Lord Eddard Stark, I ask that this weapon will replace the one that was taken, and beg that you only take it up in defence of Winterfell and it’s people._ ” The words tumble off her tongue, as if something else is speaking through her. She gets the feeling that the castle is helping her along again, though this time the sensation of being Winterfell isn’t there. Focusing on the present, she allows the words to echo through out the crypts, her intentions sinking into the sword she holds. Then coming out of a kneel, she lightly touches the stone slab sealing his body with her hand, and with a rumbled grind, the stone begins to move by itself.

Closing her eyes quickly, she doesn’t wish to look upon the body of her father as she lays the sword down on top of it. As she does, the sensation of fingertips brushes against her cheeks. With a shaky inhale, Sansa cracks her eyes open, a flutter of hope in her chest. But disappointment crushes her heart, as all she sees is the stony face of her father’s statue. The stone covering grinds shut as she steps back, giving a low curtsey in thanks, face forlorn. 

Her uncle Brandon’s goes about the same way, though the brush against her is in her hair instead, like fingers carding through the strands lightly. But still, she doesn’t see any sign that she was privately hoping for. But with her grandfather, Rickard, something different happens.

She places the sword down and this time the hand is more solid against her cheek. Eyes flying open, Sansa can’t help the frozen disbelief that shivers through her. The four behind her step back, stunned, and the rasp of a sword drawn lets her know of Cor’s reaction.

But Sansa stares in awe at the sight of her grandfather. He looks like her father, but much older than when her’s died. A withered but kind smile is on his ghostly face. His hands are like silk on her skin, and the kiss on her forehead is a solid as stone. Words play through her head as he touches her, and a shaky exhale leaves her lips, tears gathering in her closed eyes.

‘ _Queen of Winter suits you, my grandaughter. Know that I watch with pride and joy._ ’ His voice is a deep rumble, like a wolf’s growl. The love that she feels from it, is _everything_.

Blinking up at his statue, ghostly form disappearing, her eyes are wet at his approval. The worry of not being enough, of being a woman and not a man. To know that one of her ancestors believes in her rule. _Believes in her_. It’s everything she has ever _wanted_. She never truly felt like a Stark. With the Tully looks, the wish for Southern fashion, the lack of wolfsblood. It’s the kind of belief she never was able to get from the rest of her family, seen as not Northern enough.

She loves her mother, there is no doubt about that. She is proud of her Tully heritage. But still, she wanted the acceptance from her other side of her family too. And to know her grandfather believes her enough to be a Stark. The worry and fear disappears.

When she exits the crypts sometime after, there is a bronze crown with nine, small, blackiron swords pointed upwards mounted onto the circlet held in her hands. In the front if a wolf, baring it’s teeth in ferocious anger. It was last held by her brother, and magic brought it back to it’s next, rightful wearer.

Cor has never been so terrified, and he’s been almost _drowned_ before, _and_ faced death on the battlefield with only a sword too many times. Watching Sansa go into a daze, not hearing him or her friends yell her name. Being held on the spot by the invisible force of the castle, when he tries to reach her,and can only watch helplessly as Sansa cuts herself deep and go under water.

The personal fear that he has to shove aside as he races to the hot springs, finally free from the invincible hold, only remembering to shrug off his cloak as he wades into the water to grab her out from under the water, was difficult to do. The wet, naked skin had caused his grip to almost slip, heart in his throat, panicking. He managed to drag her out and holding her close in his cloak, shaking and near crying from the fear of losing her. He couldn’t bear it if she died. Not that he would live long if she did.

The pure relief that spreads over his fear as she opens her eyes and speaks, as him trembling, adrenaline slowly coming down. He doesn’t pay much attention as she speaks to her friends, to busy angry yelling at the castle in his head. It sends him a regretful but stern reprimanding at his insults and accusations of trying to kill Sansa. He stares at her face, taking in all the life that she holds, and the rosy red in her cheeks. ‘ _Alive_.’ He internally cries, “ _She is still alive_.’

As she got dressed, Cor leant against the wall with one hand, trying to control his breathing. All he kept seeing was Sansa drowning and feeling the memory of the rush of water in his own ears. The large hand pushing him down. Taking deep breaths, the castle tries to comfort him, but Cor shrugs off it’s coos of sadness and apologies, still upset with it.

At least the next task was less death defying and more up his alley. Corpses? _Easy_. He can deal with that. Sudden ghost of Sansa’s grandfather? Surprising, but hey, he’s the commander of a ghost army. So not _too_ weird. Though all this magic seems to be scaring the girls, but they are staying strong. Taking it in their stride, Cor is proud of their strength. And by the way they look around the castle and it’s walls with wary awe, they are starting to feel how alive the castle is as well. Maybe not on the level that him and Sansa are at, but enough to understand it.

Visiting Beth was so normal, Cor was waiting for the next supernatural thing to suddenly appear. Luckily it didn’t. Unluckily, creepy rat man decided to make his presence known to Sansa as they step out of the great hall and into the court yard.

Cor automatically puts himself in front of her, cutting off his approach, the other three falling in around Sansa, forming a guard. A smirk appears across his face as Cor watches annoyance and wariness appear in Lord Baelish’s dark eyes.

‘ _No way are you sinking your claws into her again._ ’ He thinks vehemently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Magic. I had fun writing down the ritual for the castle regaining power. And the ghost Rickard was a spur of the moment. Sansa gets validation! And i crown.
> 
> Poor Cor, ptsd fucking triggered watching Sansa nearly drown. But he got. 
> 
> Until next time! My updates are slowing down, but they will keep coming. I’m getting to the political part of the story and loads of lords and ladies are going top have to be introduced. Ugh. I’ve had to do hella research and a lot of time line changes. But like i said before, the timeline is just completely fudged now so some things are moving up in the timeline, and others are moving further back.


	21. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling in and taking command

“My lady Sansa, if I may have a moment of your time. Alone.”

When she would hear his voice, whispery and low, the instinctual fear always grabbed her, and Sansa had to force it down, not wanting him to see her weakness. But the way he eyes Cor warily, and stands with fake confidence. Her fear is non-existent. With her back straight, strength in her form, she cocks her head and genuinely asks, though with no small amount of derisive in her voice, 

“And _why_ should I allow you that.”

Flicking his eyes to her guards, and then to the fairly active courtyard that they stand in, it was so obvious how uncomfortable he was at having such a private conversation in public. But she will grant him no comfort, not after all that he has done. “When I saw the Knights of the Vale riding to Winterfell, I was worried you were harmed.”

She just raises her eyebrow, unimpressed with his answer. Lord Baelish tries again.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you-“

“What do _want_ , Lord Baelish?” She cuts him off, not wanting to hear his fake platitudes. She wants this conversation over with, tired from the two rituals she’s done this morning, and his grating voice is not making her feel any better. Winterfell is still in chaos, though a bit more orderly than yesterday, but it needs severe organising.

She waits for him to speak, but he seems unsure, off-footed with the way the conversation has gone. He knows he holds no upper-hand in this discussion.

So she speaks instead, voice cold, “Did you know about Ramsey? The kind of man that he was? Cause if you didn’t you’re an _idiot_ , and if you did you’re my _enemy_.”

The silence is heavy, and Sansa can almost physically see him fumbling for some cunning words. But she isn’t finished yet. She needs him to know exactly where he went wrong. “What do you think he was going to do to me, Lord Baelish?” She questioned. “I’m lucky enough to have escaped in good health with the help of my shield. But if I didn’t have him, what do you think Ramsey would’ve done to me?”

Sansa admits that without Cor having given her the knife, and with out the knowledge that he was coming for her to help, she wouldn’t have gotten out of the marriage bed unharmed. She _knows_ that. The fear is still there, buried in her chest. Sansa knows that a lot has changed within her since meeting Cor. Less of a bystander to her tragedies, becoming less of a victim to abuse, she is fighting back.

Licking his lips nervously, he speaks, trying to weasel himself out of giving her a true answer. “I can’t begin to contemplate-“

She cuts him off again, not wanting his excuses. He isn’t a complete idiot. He knows what would’ve happened to her, and she wants to here it in his words. “ _What do you think he would’ve done?_ ” she enunciates every word, hammering in home the mistake he made.

“Beat you.” Softly spoken, but it ins’t what she wants to hear.

“Oh yes. I’m quite sure he would’ve done that. What else?”

Changing tactics, he apologises, filled with regret that she is sure isn’t fully true. She bets he’s upset that his plan hadn’t gone the way he hoped it would. “I made a horrible mistake. I trusted a stranger. _I’m so sorry._ ”

Feeling her face begin to contort itself into a look of disgust and hidden anger, Sansa spits out, “You took me away from the people who murdered my family. And then you _married me_ to the people who _murdered my family_. You said you would _protect_ me.”

“And I will-“

“I don’t _need_ you anymore.” Sansa can feel a freeness at admitting that out loud. All this time she has had to rely on people who she couldn’t trust fully. “You _can’t_ protect me. _You can’t protect yourself_ if I tell Cor to cut you down. I’m sure he would enjoy it, he’s been _begging_ me to for awhile now.”

Cor shifts, a casual threatening stance, hand ready to pull his sword out on her command. Lord Baelish’s eyes flash in fear, but he tries again, going for a more submissive and willing approach.

“Do you want me to beg for my life, because I will. What ever you want, with the power I have, I will do. What ever you want.” His hoarse voice, though trying to sound contrite and truly remorseful. ‘ _Remorseful at being caught, maybe._ ’ Sansa thinks, looking at his pleading form.

“And If I want you to die? Right here?”

“ _Then I will die_.” Said with such confidence, such bravery, Sansa is _almost_ impressed. But no. He doesn’t die today, luckily for him. No, his execution will not be by her hands, nor Cor’s for that matter.

Deciding to leave the conversation, she says, “You may stay in Winterfell, but don’t think that means I wish to talk to you again.” And with that, Sansa sweeps past, her girls following behind. Cor is the last to leave, waiting for her to move out of reach of Lord Baelish before following after.

Luckily enough, Lord Baelish keeps to her wish. Though she sees him skulking about, he makes no move to speak to her, only watching, assessing. The next couple of weeks are as busy as she predicted. With ravens coming in from the different houses, pledging their loyalty and informing her of their trek to Winterfell, Sansa has been busy making preparations. For a couple of days, they were heavily understaffed before the prisoners of the Dreadfort arrived. Many were taken in for healing before slowly being put to work.

She didn’t want to rush any of her people, their health being fragile from the abuse they’ve suffered, but with winter coming, all hands were needed. Sansa herself was helping out where she could, making clothes and blankets for those who didn’t have any.

There was also the raven from Jon, his letter showing his relief over her safety and the return of their home. There was also the talk of moving the wildlings past the wall, and settling them in the Gift. Sansa was all for it, though not without caution. She would have to discuss with Lord Umber when he arrived, seeing as it was part of his land.

And then there was Lord Stannis, or King, she concedes. His letter of demand for her to bend the knee was very predictable that she genuinely rolled her eyes when reading the words. For now, she set is aside, needing to focus on the more important things than who sat on the Iron Throne. Currently it was Tommen, but Sansa knew, with a sad resignation, that he was just a puppet king for Cersei and Tywin. He was such a sweet boy, the Kinghood would destroy him.

Pushing her sympathies aside, Sansa had to focus on her own people. Fortunately, the glass houses were intact, obviously the Boltons’ not being stupid enough to destroy a large source of their food. A steward would be helpful with balancing the grain and food storage. The Poole’s were an old family, though maybe not as large or powerful as others, their loyalty though was their reigning characteristic. They had been the stewards of the Starks for many a century, and the loss of them, like a lot of the other Northern houses was felt.

But they were gone. And Sansa had to make do until she could find a loyal person for that position. Temporarily, Lord Royce has picked up that role, but she can’t completely rely on him with his duties still happening in the Vale. He was receiving many a correspondence from the lords and ladies there, keeping track of the comings and goings.

Mya, Lyn, and Ellina were amazingly helpful, taking on the task of being in charge of the servants and maids, they fliting around the keep, making sure everything was running smoothly. She couldn’t express how truly thankful she was to have them here. Beth, having regain her strength, was given a room with the other three girls, sharing a room with them a few doors down from Sansa. It wasn’t unusual for maids to be close by so that they may complete their tasks, and Sansa was happy for them to be near. She wanted Beth to share with them so she wouldn’t be alone, especially when the inevitable nightmares occurred. The older girls kept her updated, which Sansa was happy to know, wanting to make sure Beth was healing as best as she could. 

Cor had taken over the soldiers and their training with terrifying enthusiasm, running the men through drills and practices in the tilt yard. There was also a few hours each day where he would talk battle strategy and tactics. The men were at first unsure and maybe a little amused at this boy suddenly being in command. But it didn’t take them long to fall in and answer his commands. Strangely enough, his stern demeanour and dry, sarcastic wit won most of the men over. There were some of the older soldiers that weren’t too keen with answering to the boy. But he just offered them the chance to fight him if they wished.

“I understand that some of you are unhappy with me being in charge. That’s fair. But it isn’t going to change. Unless you are able to beat me in a fight, one on one, then I will remain in charge. I will step down willingly, but if you lose, you must fall in line without arguing. Understood?”

That day was filled with quite a few men fighting Cor. None of them lasted more than five minutes.

Sansa took great pleasure in standing on the observation balcony, watching him fight. Seeing it in broad daylight, Sansa was able to fully appreciate his skills. With him so busy, there were times of the day where he wasn’t standing guard for her. Luka and Macel, having volunteered to trade off in rotation with Cor, took to her guard, following her around the keep as she completed her duties and task of the day.

The men’s fear and awe was a funny sight, and the whispers and rumours following in, Sansa and the girls took great pleasure in teasing him. The moniker of the Ghost Commander was a title that he was embarrassed over, though he admitted it was better than his last one, The Immortal.

Theon sometimes joined her guard, but more often he stuck to Cor. Those two had strangely hit it off a few days into regaining Winterfell. Cor wouldn’t tell her what they discussed, only saying that he was making sure that Theon was loyal and strong enough to fight. Sansa knew there was more that was said, but she let them keep their secrets, as she started to see a very slow improvement in Theon’s health. He was starting to not flinch so much when addressed by his actual name, and was able to meet people’s eyes when they talked to him more often than not. Though that easy confidence he had in his youth hadn’t returned, and Sansa had a feeling it never would.

Theon took to teaching the soldiers archery, improving their skills, though Theon would always be the better of the bunch.

Old nan was with those that had returned from the Dreadfort, though her health didn’t seem to improve. She was old, and the bad conditions in which she stayed in didn’t help, her already slow health. Put to bed rest, Sansa made sure to visit at least once a day, managing to wring a story or two out of the elder woman. She felt a nostalgic calm blanket her anytime she was in the presence of Old Nan, latching on to the familiarity with vigour.

There was also some private fighting lessons with the girls and Cor, Mya having taken him up on his offer, and Lyn and Ellina willingly joining in on the practise. They took to it with focused determination, and Sansa could see the pride seeping from Cor’s face, even when he was barking orders and showing no remorse when pushing them to the limit. When she asked him why he was teaching them, he answered with a quiet seriousness.

“There will be moments where I won’t be able to be there to protect you. Having more guards is the best way to keep you safe, and I know that you are hesitant to learn to fight past self-defence.”

“Are you disappointed that I won’t fight like you?”

“Never. I don’t want you to have blood on your hands, not like I have. I can see how much you hate death, and I don’t want you to be forced into killing. I know that you have to cut off heads, and I believe that is enough for you to learn besides wielding a knife.”

“But don’t you _hate_ how weak, how _reliant_ I am on other people.”

“Strength isn’t just learning to stab people, Sansa. There are other ways to fight, and your way works best for you. Leave the physical fighting to me and your retinue.”

In the evenings, Cor would teach her about cutting off heads, having her practise with a broadsword instead of the slim blades that he prefers to use. Her arms would be shaking by the end of the hour, shoulders aching from practising the swing downwards. She had to build up the strength to lift the sword as well as chopping off a head.

“It doesn’t always come off in one swing, and I don’t expect you to be able to do that, not with the time limit we are on. Maybe in the future, but not with this first execution. And that’s okay. Lobbing off a head isn’t the easiest thing.” Cor was gentle with her, in a way that he wasn’t with his soldiers or her girls.

A part of her was slightly annoyed by how kind he was, treating her like glass. When she accused him of that, he didn’t fall for her baiting, instead answering with a calm firmness. “You’ve had enough rough treatment Sansa. The soldiers are trained for rough treatment, kind words and soft training doesn’t build a strong soldier. There is no kindness on the battlefield, and they know that. As for the girls, they are training to protect you, knowing that the harsh training they go through is not out of unkindness. I’m preparing them for what could happen. Assassinations, sellswords, and more personal enemies. The people that come for you will be of higher training than soldiers, and much more deadlier. They are going through a different kind of training then my men, and they know that. I’m not gentle on them because their job isn’t a gentle one.”

She conceded to his decision, and understood.

After training, Cor would disappear for a awhile, seeing to his men and nightly guard schedules. Building camaraderie was important between a commander and his men, especially in avoiding subterfuge and spies. In that time, Sansa would bathe and chat with her girls. When she was clean, she would order another bath and wait for Cor to return.

Since that first night, she never did get around to finding him a room to stay in, and so he had made a space for himself in her rooms. She was happy for that, allowing him to make a home in hers. She understood how difficult it was for him to adjust to the world differences between Westeros and Eos, and a little familiarity was a comfort. A part of her should feel embarrassed at sharing a space with a boy, who she isn’t related to or married to. But she didn’t because those that knew, understood that them sharing a space was completely innocent. Sansa knew, that one day she would like to share a life with Cor, but she is still young, still healing. And he himself doesn’t seem ready for anything like that.

So them sharing a bed, her helping him bathe, was done with a soft intimacy, that didn’t lead anywhere sexual. The girls would coo and tease the two of them, striding into their bedroom in the morning, loudly waking them up and preparing them for the day. Lord Royce discussed his issues with it with Sansa, who eased his worries.

“We haven’t done anything inappropriate, and he hasn’t done anything untoward either. I know and understand why you have concerns, but I promise you, nothing has happened.”

“Why do you share a room then, Lady Sansa?”

“Because despite being surrounded by allies and friends, I still feel unsafe here. I have nightmares, and Cor does too. We keep each other safe at our most vulnerable, and I guess, we have become dependent on one another.”

“You love him.” It was an observation, not a statement.

She was unashamed by her answer, speaking with confidence. “I do. And if he is willing, I wish to marry him in the future.”

“Many lords will not be happy about that.”

“And they can stay unhappy, for I will give them many things, but my choice in happiness will be mine and mine alone. I’ve been betrothed to a monster and married twice to my enemies. This will be the one thing I will not be moved on.”

“I will be by your side when the time comes, my Lady.”

Lord Royce was a gift that she would never be able to give back in equal measure. His firm loyalty, and father-like behaviour was a comfort. And the way he treated Cor with a fond, but resigned amusement was enjoyable to watch. Their dry remarks bouncing back and forth, discussing future plans with calm sternness. Sansa knows that this is something Cor needed, a father figure to grow under. Though he already had one other father figure, and sometimes Sansa would spot a soft sadness whenever he was silent and handling the sword Gilgamesh had given him.

The god had shown her Shield a paternal affection that he never had and he latched onto it desperately, and the loss of their conversation’s and training weighed on his heart. She had suggested to summon him, but Cor would just shake his head, unsure and unwilling to bother the god. Sansa wouldn’t push the matter, knowing that his stubbornness would not be moved.

Though it was frustrating and at times the girl was tempted to draw the sword herself and drag the god into their world, just to stop Cor’s moping.

On one chilled morning, Sansa going through inventory again with Lord Royce, and standing on the balcony and watching the men train, that Theon came rushing over, slightly out of breath. Turning, mildly alarmed at his behaviour, she waited for him to catch his breath.

“Banners have been spotted. Mormonts, Hornwood, Glover, and Karstark are arriving.”

Blurting out in surprise, “All together?” She shared a look with Lord Royce, her eyes wide, and he nodded in understanding and left. He had guards to set up and prepare for the guests, just incase some decided to go against her rule. Pursing her lips, she tells Theon, “Tell them to open the gates, and allow the main lords and ladies to come in, along with a small guard. The rest of their men can camp outside the walls until we are sure of their loyalties.”

Theon nods seriously and runs off. Sansa turns back to the training men, and notes that a guard had informed Cor. The Shield is quickly ordering the men around him and swiftly returning to her side as she steps down to the yard.

“Shall I get the She-wolfs here too?” Cor asked.

Sansa quirked her lips at the title he used. The people of Winterfell have seen the ferocity displayed by Lyn, Mya, and Ellina and have started to call her female guard the She-wolfs. It was delightfully amusing, and Sansa watched as the girls jumped onto the name with glee. For fun, Sansa had made them cloaks, dark grey with a red wolf head on the back, which they wore with humourous pride.

Still smiling, Sansa nodded, wanting to present a strong image to the arriving lords and ladies.

Standing on the steps in front of the keep, Cor on her left, Lord Royce on her right, with the She-wolfs behind her, Sansa waits with strong posture and a confident tilt to her head. Her hair had been left undone, flowing freely. 

Feeling the joyful buzz of the castle around her, Sansa has never left so brave as she does now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took the conversation between Lord Baelish and Sansa from the show, but tweaked it a bit because the circumstances are different.  
> Look at them go! Not many moments between Cor and Sansa, but that was because I needed to speed up the events, trying to get all the lords and ladies there so shit can get done.  
> Hope y’all like the chapter! Until next time.


	22. A Lightning Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobles, meetings, executions, and confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all, I have no fucking clue on how formal meetings and political shit goes, so if the dialogue is iffy, im so sorry. I tried.  
> Some of the dialogue is taken from the show and then manipulated to fit the discussion.

The Mormont’s were the first to ride through the gate, horses trotting up into the main courtyard of the keep. Lady Alysane riding up front, her large figure and dark hair prominent and eye catching, with a mixture of men and women, armoured, riding behind her. As the horses come to a stop, stable hands rush over to hold the horses and take them to the stables when their riders have dismounted.

With a welcoming smile, Sansa walks down the steps to greet the older woman. She is as tall as Sansa, but more muscular.

“Lady Alysane, thank you for riding with such haste. Winterfell welcomes you and yours.”

The woman gives her a low bow and says, voice gruff, but no less sincere, “Princess Sansa, it’s a relief to see you in good health.” Alysane gives her a cursory once over, checking to make sure Sansa was safe. The polite smile becomes one of honesty and gratitude.

“Thank you, Lady Alysane. I wish to offer my sincere condolences for the loss of your sister, Lady Dacey. Her sacrifice will not be forgotten.”

A mixture of sadness and rage moves across the woman’s face. “Aye, she died fiercely and defending her king. There was no greater honour. The Frey’s will regret their treachery.”

Sansa gives a solemn nod, “They will.” Then turning, she gestures to Lord Royce, “Please have the servants bring their belongings to their chambers.”

Turning to face Alysane once more, “We will be gathering in the great hall when all the houses have arrived, and will break bread then. But until then, I extend my hospitality to you.”

The older woman gives a firm nod, then turns around to start barking orders at her people. Within minutes they have disappeared into the Castle and the next house arrives.

Hornwood men come trotting through, and the boy in front is not the heir she expected. But then remembering that the true born heir, Daryn had died, the only child between Lord Halys Hornwood and Lady Donella. Lord Hornwood having died in battle, and according to the reports from the Dreadfort, Lady Donella had starved to death because of Ramsey.

The boy before her, dismounting from his steed, is Laurence Snow, bastard son of Lord Hornwood. And the only option they have for a new lord. Curly brown hair, brown eyes, he is a good looking boy, a year or two younger than her. His gangly limbs show the rapid growth that boys go through, and his nervous posture has Sansa holding back an amused smile.

“Princess Sansa.” He gives a bow and softly murmurs her title. Laurence Snow was not raised to be lord, and his unsure expression shows how unfamiliar he was with all the pleasantry. Softening, she gives him a kind smile.

“Welcome to Winterfell, Lord Laurence. I understand you’ve recently been freed from Deepwood Motte. I’m happy to see you are well.”

A bright flush runs across his face and he ducks his head, embarrassed by her words, “Thank you, Princess. I’m happy that you are back in the North.” He is soft spoken, and could be seen as informal, but the genuine words of relief are better than false flattery.

Extending the same hospitality as she did with the Mormonts, the Glovers come next.

Black hair streaked with grey. A fierce expression, and strong posture, Lord Galbert Glover dismounts and strides up to Sansa. He arrived after his ward, Laurence, which she thought was strange, but seeing as the Hornwood’s needed a lord, they had to ride separately.

The man is a few inches taller than her, and quirks a small smile. With a deep bow, he murmurs her title. “Princess Sansa.”

“Lord Glover. Thank you for coming so soon. I welcome you to Winterfell.” She curtsies to him and rises as he does.

“Good to see you safe, Princess. You’ve grown quite a bit since I last saw you.” His smirk turns into a frown of mournful sadness. “I mourn the loss of your family, Princess.”

She nods, thanking him for his kind words. Like the last two times, she extends hospitality and directs him to the feasting hall.

Lastly, the Karstark’s. Sansa is unsure with this house, seeing as the heir is captive, and by some reports, Arnolf Karstark is loyal to the Boltons. But the girl that rides up front, looking small and haggard, a pit of worry fill Sansa. She looks to be Jon’s age, but the tiredness in her frame and eyes, make her look younger.

Dismounting, Sansa walks up to greet her. Almost as tall as Sansa, Lady Alys gives a curtsey and greets Sansa.

“Princess Sansa. The house Karstark pledges it loyalty to you.” The tiredness seeps into her soft voice, but there is still strength in her spine, and Sansa is impressed by her. She has had an obviously tough journey, and the strength presented is something Lady Alys should be proud of.

With a nod and smile, “Welcome to Winterfell, my lady. And what of your Uncle?” Her eyes narrow, watching the shame and fear run though the girls expression.

Tilting her chin, Alys admits, “He is disloyal, princess. Pledging himself to the Boltons.”

There is some unsure mutterings of the people around her, but Sansa observes the girl. It could be a gamble at accepting her fealty, but the fact that she rode so far just to do so, shows a trustworthiness that Sansa can count on. 

With a small smirk, Sansa briefly breaks formalities, “Well, he won’t have a house to pledge to soon.” The girl widens her eyes is surprise at Sansa’s admittance. “I accept your pledge and offer sanctuary. Winterfell extends hospitality.”

It’s another couple of days, and by then all the houses have finally arrived, each time with Sansa greeting them.

When all have gathered in the hall and bread has been broken, Sansa strides into the room, taking note of all who are there. Lord Royce, of course, with some of his knights of the Vale. The invited Lords and Ladies and their guards. Lord Baelish seems to be creeping around, assessing eyes taking in all the occupants.

When Sansa enters, Cor to her right and her ladies following behind, those that were sitting all stand up and the bows that bracket her as she walks down the aisle is, Sansa admits, confidence boosting.

Coming up to the dais, Sansa takes a brief second to look at the seat that her father aways sat in, large and throne like. It holds the sturdiness and simplicity that speaks of the North and it’s lack of frivolity. Softly inhaling, she twists around and sits with a confidence that isn’t entirely true.

Looking at her bannermen and women, a sweeping sensation of anxiety in her gut has her holding back the trembles that wrack through her frame. She is ruling over these people, and the war to come. ‘ _Is this how Robb felt?_ ’ Sansa internally cries.

Still, she keeps her head high as she greets her people.

“My lords and ladies, I thank you all for answering my call. The North has been through much upheaval, and I’m gladdened to see those who would stay loyal to my family.”

Many nod in greeting, some murmuring their replies. All watch her steadily as she continues, “There is much to be discussed for the future of our land.”

“And the first is you taking the throne, Princess?” It’s Lord Glover who speaks up. It’s not said with a cruelness, but it could be seen as disparaging.

Keeping her voice calm and polite, she responds, looking him in the eye. “There will need to be a ruler if the North is to remain independent, Lord Glover.”

Lord Royce’s voice rumbles in her defence, “The Vale is allied with Princess Sansa, and her alone. There is no other heir to the Northern throne but her.” There is a shift in the atmosphere of the hall, and the Valemen seems almost hostile. Some Northerners eye them with suspicion.

“What of Jon Snow?” It a soft voice from the back, and people peer around to see Lord Howland Reed speak up.

A wave of frustration moves through her, and Sansa notices Cor shift in agitation. They are both aware of the secret Howland Reed keeps, about her cousin. And they understand the loyalty to her father, but in this case, Sansa really wishes the lord wouldn’t bring it up. He knows that Jon is legitimate, and in accordance to the law of inheritance, as a male, Jon should have the Northern throne. But lucky enough, no one else knows about Jon’s parentage, so Sansa can easily deny his suggestion.

“Not only is my brother a sworn man of the Night’s Watch and thus unable to take up any lands,or titles, he is also illegitimate.” She reminds them. Glancing at Lord Laurence Snow, Sansa gives a nod of acknowledgment, “I have no problems with natural born children taking the place of the their father’s when there is no other choice, but I am the legitimate child of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, and the next in line after King Robb. I know that my youngest brothers are alive, having escaped when Winterfell was taken. But not only are they not here, and neither of them were taught to rule. I was.”

Lady Alysane speaks up, voice condescending and on the edge of annoyed. She directs her words to the audience, showing support in Sansa’s rule. “What I find interesting my lords is that you are able to handle house Mormont being ruled by females, yet you seem to struggle with the idea of a queen. Princess Sansa is the rightful heir to the Northern throne.”

“She’s married to a Lannister.” Lord Glover argues, as if accusing her of the marriage be her own choice. At the corner of her eye she notices Cor tense up.

She can’t help the sliver of annoyance at his accusation. Narrowing her eyes, she asked with a false pleasant tone, “As a 14 year old girl, surrounded by enemies, do you _really_ believe I had a _choice_?”

The lord has the decency to look contrite at her words, and bows his head briefly. A few other men shuffle and look unsure obviously having agreed to what he was suggesting. She spots a few of the ladies looking satisfied, them understanding her position more than the men do. Still, she needs to address that matter. “My lord, you are correct that I was married to Tyrion Lannister, but seeing as the marriage went unconsummated, it is a false marriage. But it doesn’t matter which house I’m married into, I’m a Stark. I will _always_ be a Stark, and my loyalties lie with the North.”

There were nods and soft cheers of agreement at her words. Waiting for them to settle down again, Sansa finally broaches the topic that was her main concern. “But I called you here for a more important reason than who takes the Winter crown. There is an enemy beyond the wall, and I’m not referring to the Wildlings. The commander of the Night’s Watch and all his men can confirm when I say that the Long Night is ahead of us. And with it, the Night King and his army of the undead.”

To say that the Northerners took it well would be a lie. Yelling and arguments broke out, and Sansa struggled to contain it, frustration growing by the minute.

“Is it truly that hard to believe, my lord?”

Lord Manderly argues back, “It’s just a story! A legend!”

“And so was Bran the Builder?” Sansa flings out the rhetoric, watching the people settle down uneasily. “The man who was said to warg into giants and built the Wall? 700 feet tall, no ordinary person can build that. We are not Southerners. We follow the Old Gods and magic is in our lands and very blood.”

It took much convincing, and by the end, most if not all believed her, if a bit disgruntled. When it came to Sansa’s offered solution of allowing the Wildings pass the wall to cut of the Night King’s supplies of dead bodies for his army however, it was received with a louder uproar of dissent. She understood why no one wanted the Wildlings in their land, but it was the only solution.

“My lords! They won’t stay for long, and if they agree, they must follow the laws of our land. After the Night King is destroyed, we will renegotiate with them. But until then, an alliance must be made. We _must_ band together in the face of an enemy who does not care where you are from. I promise, I swear on the Old Gods, that if any of them break one of our laws, they will be dealt with the justice equal to one of our own breaking a law. They will be held accountable to any crime they commit.” She is firm with her words, staying confident in the face of their displeasure. Even Lord Royce seems unhappy with her plan, but she had already spoken to him in private on this matter, so his support was already there.

Simmering down after her appeasement, they fall into a discussion of battle strategy and ways to kill the undead. When dragonglass and mining from Dragonstone is brought up, they end up arguing about Stannis Baratheon and him being in the North.

“Do we know why he is here?” Lady Eddara Tallhart pipes up. The nine year old is tiny in comparison to the rest of the people around her, but her guards are there and surround her with a fierce protectiveness.

Nodding, Sansa explains, “According to my brother, the Night’s Watch sent word for help against the Wilding’s attack to many houses and even to the South. Stannis was the only one to answer. And it seems he is asking for us the kneel before him, and accept him as our king.” She has to hold back her eye roll at his demands, but it seems the others are less restrained.

Lady Alysane growls out, “Beggin’ your pardon, Princess, but _fuck that_. No Southerner will rule us again, and especially not a man who is burning sacrifices like some _Targaryen_. We will only kneel to one, and it’s the one whose name is Stark.”

Lord Manderly steps forward, and there is silence, awaiting his words. He has regret in his tone and apologetic expression on his face. In the quiet, his voice echoes throughout the hall. “My son died for Robb Stark, the young wolf. And when the Boltons took Winterfell, I didn’t fight because I didn’t want more Manderly’s dying for nothin’. I thought I would never see another king in my life time. And I was right. But only because Sansa Stark avenged the Red Wedding. She is the Red Wolf! And the Queen in the North!”

There were cheers of agreement, and then the next to step forward was Lady Jonelle Cerwyn. She stands tall but her hands fidget with unhidden nervousness. She has a soft voice, going with the slim and small figure she has. At 13, she is so young like many of the others who had to take up their father’s or brother’s lordship.

“My father and brother allied with the Boltons, thinking they were right to take the North. I loved them, but they were wrong. Only one family should hold Winterfell, and it’s the Starks. I beg for forgiveness for the mistakes made by house Cerwyn.” She falls into a kneel of forgiveness, awaiting her judgement with trepidation.

Sansa is flooded with the memory of when she begged for mercy for her father. The terror and uncertainty when faced with Joffrey. She didn’t hate him then, not yet. But she was starting to pick up that something was wrong. Remembering all this, Sansa gets up from her seat and walks down to the young girl. Softly, she pulls Jonelle up from her kneel, and squeezes her hands in comfort.

Looking into a her doe-like eyes, Sansa offers a reassuring smile, soft and true. Speaking to the girl, her personal emotions bleed through.

“You were loyal to your family, and that isn’t something to be ashamed of. Lady Cerwyn, there is nothing to forgive.”

The girl’s hazel eyes begin to tear up and she swells up with confidence as she proclaims, eyes never leaving Sansa’s “I will stand by Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North!”

“ _The Queen in the North!_ ”

One by one, the men and women, her people, draw their swords and hold them aloft calling out their declaration. The great hall is filled with their yells of fierce loyalty. Sansa is left standing there, and the joy she feels at their support. And the fearfulness of what it will entail. Sansa is almost trembling, their cries echoing through her bones as they do in the hall. Looking over the sea of faces, familiar and not, she subtly searches for Cor, whose faces is still as stern as it usually is. But she knows him well enough. The pride in his eyes is more than enough than any of the lords and ladies support can ever be.

Striding back up to the dais, she stands in front of her seat, now her throne. The people quiet, watching her as she speaks. “I swear I will do everything in my power to ensure that we survive this war to come. And that the North will _never kneel again!_ ”

A day later, they are gathered around a wooden platform in the middle of the courtyard. The day has finally come, and Lord Bolton stands trial for his treason against his king. Wearing a dress of black and a fur cloak of grey, Sansa ascends the platform, Cor silently following. The Winter Crown gleams in the faint sunlight where is rests on her unbound hair. The courtyard is silent, the lords and ladies watching with trepidation.

Internally, Sansa acknowledges that many of them expect Cor to do the beheading, as she wasn’t known for carrying a weapon. And they were only half correct. But she is a Stark, and their Queen. She will not balk a tradition, even if they believe that because she is woman, she will not do the killing. It’s a stupid belief. Just look at the Mormonts. Anyone can kill.

Lord Bolton is brought out, hands chained, and dragged up the steps and pushed to his knees in front of her. He is ragged and dirty. Gone is the proud lord she met some weeks before. Now, instead is a pitiful looking man before her, with a dark hatred in his eyes.

Voice ringing out in the air, she begins to speak. It’s more for show than an actual trial, everyone here knowing that he is guilty. “Honour demands that I bring justice to my family. That I defend the North from those that betray us. Lord Bolton.” She looks down at him, “You stand accused of murder. You stand accused of treason. How do you answer these charges?”

Looking down at his kneeling figure, into his pale eyes, he narrows them and spits out, with the reckless pride of a dying man.

“He was a foolish boy, and was going to bring the downfall of the North. I did what all the others were too cowardly to do.”

Keeping a tight grip on her anger, she asks with a voice as cold as the winter air, “So you admit to your guilt?”

Head tilting up, confident, he declares. “I admit it. And I know you will bring ruin to the North, just as he did.” She has to give it to him, his lack of pleading and begging honours his character. But honour is a false idea, and his strength mean nothing when he will be dead within the minute.

Turning to nod back at Cor, her Shield moves forward and jerks the weakly man around so his head is on the chopping block. A wheezing laughter escapes the lord as he is forced down.

“Can’t kill me yourself, _Queen_ Sansa?” He sneers, “Afraid to get your hands dirty, so you get your dog to do it for you?” His mocking voice faintly stirs up the audience, and discretely looking at them, she can see a few faces who seem to agree with the man. She also spots Cor’s fists curl at the insulting name, but his face stays blank.

Narrowing her eyes at the insult, she pulls back her shoulders and explains coldly, “He would be honoured to kill you in my stead. But no. The one who passes the sentence must swing the sword. As my father taught his sons, he taught his daughters as well.”

Cor steps back, and holds out the broad sword she had been practising with for weeks. Drawing it from it’s scabbard, Sansa watches with a small amount of pleasure as his eyes widen in disbelief and fear.

Holding the sword by it’s hilt, blade pointed down, Sansa declares, “I, Sansa Stark, Queen of the North, sentence you to die.” It’s short and brief, not needing or wanting to intone all the titles that a monarch would have. Sansa gives herself no time to think as she breathes in and brings the sword up, swinging it down onto his neck.

She practised with wooden blocks, hours tiredly struggling with the weight of the blade had paid off. As quick and easy as when her father died, his head slices off, falling to the wooden floor with a heavy thump, blood pouring out.

Just as she expected, there was no true satisfaction or relief from killing the man. She feels nothing. Just sickness from taking a man’s life, just as she did with Ramsey. A part of her wished that she felt something, hoped, even. But she knew the reality. Lord Bolton is gone, but so is her family. And no matter if all her enemies are killed, Robb, Father, Mother, Lady. They will never be brought back. Exhaling shakily, she hands the sword back to Cor not meeting his eyes, and turns back to the audience.

Many watch impressed, but it does nothing for the sickness that churns in her stomach.

“The Red Wedding has been avenged.” Sansa declares, voice strong as she can make it. Then Sansa descends the steps, and strides into the keep, leaving the bloody scene behind her. The rest of the executions will be dealt with by others, Lord Royce over seeing it all.

Cor watches as Sansa walks through the castle, and there is a sad pride that fills him. These last few days have been heavy, taking a toll on his Queen. The meetings with the lords, and the battle plans that have been hesitantly made, were hard on her, especially with the execution to come laying on her shoulders. Watching her kill a man brought no true satisfaction. Cor was more than happy to do it for her, but understood now why she didn’t let him. He saw the way all the Northerners watched with disbelief and disappointment, thinking she wouldn’t kill the man herself.

Their shock fed his soul, the satisfied pleasure he felt at the way she went against their expectations, impressing them. But it only lasted a second after seeing how pale she slowly became.

When entering her chambers, the She-wolfs somewhere around the keep having other jobs to do at the moment, had drawn a bath for Sansa.

It was only mid-day, but the other girls seemed to sense that Sansa would need something to help relax her. Cor hesitates, seeing how upset she was but didn’t want to leave her. Then he begins to step back through the main door, giving her privacy for her bath.

“Wait.” His hand stills on the door handle at her soft command. Turning back around slowly, she finally looks at him. “Don’t leave me. _Please_.” Her shaky plea is more than enough to convince him to stay.

Her ocean blue eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and her lower lips trembles. His heart breaks at the sight, and Cor swiftly moves to her side, gently taking her into his arms. She is shaking and crying silently in his arms, and Cor keeps her close, his hands running through her hair. 

“I will _never_ leave you, Sansa.” He murmurs with quiet conviction.

The fire crackling is the loudest sound in the silent room, as the two teens stand in the centre, taking comfort in each other’s presence. As Sansa begins to shift in his hold, Cor draws back, allowing her room to leave.

Looking into his eyes, he sees that her’s is rimmed red from crying. Hand coming up, he cups her cheek and murmurs again, “Why are you crying?”

“Because killing him has brought me nothing. I feel nothing but sick at taking a life.” It’s a whispered confession, and she looks away, eyes closing and ashamed at her perceived weakness. A small smile creeps across his face, and he nudges her face gently so that she meets his gaze once more.

“You should _never_ grow indifferent to death, and I’m relieved you feel upset about it.” His thumb begins to stroke her cheek bone, soothing her worries away as best as he can. “You have such a kind heart, Sansa. Never feel ashamed for the emotions you show. _Especially to me._ ” The words finish with a soft whisper.

They stare at one another, and Cor watches as her eyes flick down before coming back up. It would’ve been unnoticeable, subtle. But this close, Cor can see every micro expression on her face.

He can feel his heart skip, and speed up. Pounding so hard, that he is sure that Sansa could hear with how close they are standing next to each other. His thought are blank, only hyper focusing on what she is possibly suggesting with that singular glance. 

He knows that he had been slowly falling for his queen, and was agonising over how _impossible_ their relationship would be. In a time like this, she would be marrying a lord when the war was over, securing her seat on the throne. Their relationship would be one of tragedy, and it would end. He would have to stand by her side, watching as another captured her heart.

He would stay with her, he promised. But that didn’t mean his heart wouldn’t be breaking every agonising second that she was just out of arms reach. His knees feel weak, as he licks his lips nervously, mouth becoming dry.

Again, she looks down, at his lips, and he has to stop this in it’s track before it ends in devastation.

“ _We can’t_.” Cor breathes, and Sansa narrows her eyes at that. “Why _not_?” She quietly demands. He is walking on the edge of something, and one wrong move can destroy everything they’ve built between them.

“I’m not _good enough_ for you.” Throat hoarse, his words are weak. Everything about him is weak when he is in her presence. She makes him feel strong enough to fight armies, but one look would have him falling to his knees in worship. His hand falls from her cheek and he steps away from her.

However, Sansa has other ideas and steps with him, eyes blazing with determination. This time it’s her hands that come up. Face held in between her thin, elegant fingers and warm palms, they are gentle and firm, allowing him to leave her touch if her truly wishes. If he was able to decide, he would never part from her touch. 

“I think, that if I gave you my heart. If you held it in your hands. You would treat it with a certain tenderness that would make me weep. I love you. And I want no other person in this world to share my life with.” The words fill his body with a heart wrenching embrace, and his helpless hopefulness latches on it like a starving animal. 

He is breathless with her soft conviction, and Cor squeezes his eyes shut, trying to force back the onslaught of tears. He’s never known this kindness, this _love_ , until he met her. He can’t have this bond ruined with their complicated affections for one another. He just knows that this will be a mistake. And she must see his apprehension, his fear, and steps back, taking her warmth with her.

“But, if loving me gets in the way of your duty, I would _never_ forgive myself.” The words wobble with her held back tears, and once again, his heart jerks at the pain he is causing her.

The selflessness in her choice has his eyes flying open though and he grabs her arm, stopping her as she begins to leave his space. The hope in her eyes at his reaction, it makes his resigned decision falter, and his heart pounds like it’s about to burst with all the emotions swarming in his body and mind.

“ _My duty will always be loving you._ ” The whispered declaration of his love sounds loud in the silent room, and her breath hitches at his words. She bites her lip, and he watches it tremble under her teeth.

Both hands are cupping her cheeks before he even registers it and his lips capture hers.

He never truly feels the high during battle, mind only on the fight. From one opponent to another, he fights with a deadly focus, enemies blurring together, all motions automatic and instinctual. After a fight, he is exhausted and only assessing those on his side that are injured and dead. The only time he feels so exhilarated, his blood pounding and screaming for the fight, is just before, as he sees the enemies on the horizon. But even then, it’s never enough.

Once, when he was 12, he stood in a thunderstorm with lightning streaking the dark sky, sword in the air and angrily demanding the storm god to strike him down. He was vicious, angry, and grieving. Feeling like there was nothing left for him to live for, only wanting to die, feeling as alive as possible.

Joining the military wasn’t a possibility he had thought of, and all he knew was a fight. His 12 year old self thought fighting a god was the best idea at the time. Not like him, now 15, has any footing to stand on.

And lightning did strike him. The energy, the electricity, the _pain_ , that ran through his body, singing and _screaming_ in unison, it was a sensation he had been searching for in every battle. That tightrope between death and life. No battle truly stood up to the comparison, only with Gilgamesh in that first fight, did he get close to the lightning strike he had been wanting.

_Kissing Sansa was like a lightning strike._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo! That kiss was not planned! At all! But oh well, the kids really wanted to confess. But it’s not going to be all fine and dandy afterwards. There is still a lot they have to work through, and love during a war isn’t always the best time. 
> 
> And bolton is finally dead. About fucking time. I’ve been trying to get around to it, and apparently it was needed to kick start the two to getting together. Thank you Roose Bolton for your sacrifice. 🙏🏻 
> 
> Also, if you noticed those that read the previous chapter, I removed her crown because it didn’t fit the scene.
> 
> Hope you liked it! until next time


	23. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions

Sansa had been kissed many times in her life. Joffrey. The Hound. Tyrion. Lord Baelish. Ramsey. Besides Joffrey, the first time, all the other kisses weren’t truly by her choice, forced on or pressured by others, the romantic in her died a little each time.

All those men weren’t someone that she could love. They terrified her, disgusted her. But with Cor, it was like seeing the sunrise after a long, cold, night. A night that seemed to drag on, thinking that the sun would never rise despite knowing it would. She hoped and hoped in spite of how foolish she knew it would be, that maybe. Just maybe, she would find love one day.

Cor was her sunrise, and kissing him was like a revelation.

It was soft, slow, hesitant. It was like she could breath again and was breathless all at once. When they part, she wishes that it would never end. Looking up into his grey-blue eyes, that soft flutter that bloomed slowly in her heart was beating fast.

There was no red flush on his cheeks, just this reverent and amazed gaze. Like this was an impossibility for him.

Sansa saw the way he was unsure with them being together, and she ached at the idea of them never being able to truly love each other the way they want to. She knows that it will be an up hill struggle, but it would all be worth it. When Cor looks at her that way, nothing could harm her.

He breaths out, a shaky exhale, and leans his forehead onto hers. The usual resting frown is gone, and for once he actually looks his age. His skin is darker than her pale white, tanned and weathered under the sun. Added with his frown lines, he looked older than he actually was. But the relaxed expression, the wonder and hope in his eyes, so child-like and delightful. Her heart beats hard with the knowledge that she put that expression on his handsome face.

“I won’t be king, just saying.”

His words startle her out of her reverie, and a surprised laughter leaves her lips. Her hand flies up to muffle her laughter. He frowns at her and argues is statement.

“I’m _serious_ , I’m not being king.”

She has to step away, laughing harder at the utter seriousness of his words, how disgruntled he seems at the very idea of being king. Something most men in her world be salivating for. When her laughter finally dies, and Cor is pouting, she responds, her chuckles quieting a bit so she could talk.

“You won’t be king anyways. You would be consort or prince. The North would never allow their queen to take another’s name. If anything, you would take mine.”

Blinking bewildered for a second as he digests her words, a bright red blush rises on his cheeks and he hides his mouth behind the back of his hand. Looking away, unable to meet her eyes, Sansa also spots his ears turning red too.

When going back over her words, she realises, also becoming red, that she basically proposed to him.

Stuttering, her words come out fumbled and incomprehensible, as Sansa tries to explain herself. In the midst of all this nonsense, apparently Cor had gathered himself together better than she, and approaches her again.

Stumbling to a stop, her stream of words fade away as Cor gentle cups her face again. Her heart jolts in her chest, skipping a beat, as she looks into the determined eyes of her Shield. Gently, his lips press onto her’s, and it’s no less lovely than the first kiss.

Softly sighing from her nose, her arms absentmindedly come up and around his shoulders, and she pulls him in closer.

The hands on her face slide away, one to her hair and the other to her waist. She is suddenly thrown into the memory of the first time his hands were on her. Or, maybe not the first time, where he helped her up into that tree.

No, when he was showing her how to defend herself, arms around her in a mimic of attack. The entire time, she didn’t really notice the touch, too focused on what he was saying and teaching. All touch was professional and never lingered.

But that didn’t mean, afterwards, that she forgot the heavy weight of his hands around her shoulders. Or the soft touches when belting on her knife holster to her exposed ankle.

Those same, firm but gentle hands move like water down her shoulder, flowing past her arms and around her back. He stops on her lower back, and it’s like he is cradling her body, holding her tightly to him.

It feels similar to when he held her in that field for comfort. But this isn’t comfort. This is something different, something more. They aren’t strangers anymore, caught in a spiral of confusing emotions and connections, stumbling across the other in some of their most vulnerable states.

It’s a strange familiarity, the way they hold each other close.

A loud clang as them ripping apart from one another, Cor going on the defence at the noise. He had tightened his hold on her waist and pulled her around so that his body was in between her and the noise. But at the lack of weight on her head, Sansa peers down and spots her crown on the floor.

‘ _He must’ve knocked it off by accident._ ’ She internally concludes. Looking up at Cor, who is also looking down at the crown, she snorts in startled amusement at how he is tense and at the ready, but staring baffled at the ground.

Pulling away, Cor sheepishly rubs at his neck, murmuring an apology. Biting back her laughter she contorts her face into one of seriousness. “No apologies. The crown is a _dangerous_ enemy. Thank you for defending me, brave knight.”

Grumbling at her teasing, “Shut up and take your bath, _your Majesty_.” Cor heads to her bedroom so she can bathe in peace. A small smile still on her lips, Sansa begins to strip down and sink into the warm water.

Awhile later, once she had redressed into a dark grey gown, a black fur cloak over her shoulders, Sansa exits the room, Cor following behind her.

The lack of change in their relationship is something that Sansa is relieved about. She liked the way they act around one another, the comfortable familiarity in their words and stances. Sansa already knew she loved him, and now that it’s out in the open, and subsequently his feelings as well, not much has truly changed. Sure, as they walk through the castle greeting and discussing one thing or another with lords and servants, they will catch each other’s eyes and Sansa will have to force down the giddy feelings in her chest to stay professional. And she can see the Cor’s ears have been red for at least a couple of hours now, so she knows his calm, indifferent face is just a mask.

They both recognise that their new relationship can not be known. ‘ _At least,_ ’ Sansa muses, ‘ _Not until after the war maybe_ ,’

Soon, Cor bows out of his guard duties to go train the men, her She-wolfs taking up his job. Surrounded by her friends, Sansa feels like she is an open book whenever they look or talk to her, waiting for them to somehow realise that her and Cor kissed.

But surprisingly, they don’t pick it up, and Sansa is a little proud at how impenetrable her polite mask that she wears is. However, she will definitely be discussing this with them later.

As she walks through the courtyard, seeing Beth who is softly talking with the blacksmith, Sansa decides to go over, curious. But before she gets close enough, a guard quickly comes running to her.

Luka stands before her, and Sansa raises her eyebrow. “Your Majesty, there is a girl claiming to be Arya Stark at the gates.” He points back the way he came as he says this.

It’s like the air is sucked from her lungs, and all noise seems to fade as she turns her head to the gate. It’s not the front gate of Winterfell, the one before the moat, but the gate into the courtyard in front of the castle. But still, she looks in that direction as if Arya will appear.

“Let her through.” Sansa orders, though she feels distant from the words that escape her, and she has taken off in a run, ignoring all property for the sake of seeing if her sister is truly alive.

People scurry out of the way, looking surprised at the sight of their queen sprinting through Winterfell, skirts pulled up so she could run unhindered. Her She-wolfs are quick to follow, keeping up with her mad dash.

Upon reaching the inner gate, across the lowered bridge, on the other side of the moat, Sansa spots a group being held back by guards. She is confused for a second because she ordered the men to let them through. Then she realises, cursing inwardly, that she didn’t wait for them to do said order. Instead she ran.

One of the smaller figures must’ve spot her, because they manage to duck the guard and start to run in her direction. Taking an unsure step towards the small person running, they yell out her name.

“ _Sansa!_ ”

Widening her eyes, said girl recognises the voice and takes off in a sprint again, colliding with her sister’s body in the middle of the bridge. She is dirty, smelly, but alive! Sansa thought her sister to have died in the escape, but she should’ve known better. Arya Stark doesn’t die that easily.

Tears are running freely as she holds her sister as close as possible, afraid she will disappear any second. Pulling back, Sansa looks at her sister, assessing everything. Her sword is strapped to her waist and Arya has gotten taller, now 12. Though, not as tall as she is.

“Arya, welcome home!” Sansa chokes out, and her sister grins back, pure relief showing in her expression. The Castle is humming in delight around them, and she is completely over joyed with seeing her sister again.

“Heard you’re queen now. Do I have to call you ‘ _your Majesty_ ’?” Arya teases, but there is an underlining worry in her words. As if she thinks Sansa will lord her station over her. Their relationship was never the best, but everything that has happened has put a lot into perspective. She will never take her family for granted again.

So Sansa just shakes her head, “Like you would anyways.” And they share another smile before Arya pulls away, turning back to the group she arrived with.

“There are some people here to see you.” She makes a waving motion, and the three figures start to move closer.

First she spots is a man. Tall, hair short and dark. Then the next two figures are women.

For the second time in the hour, Sansa goes breathless at the familiar faces before her, disbelieving.

Her voice shakes as she asks, “ _Jeyne? Shae?_ ” She sounds terribly small in her ears as she speaks, and the girl who she thinks is Jeyne, chokes out a cry and flings herself into Sansa’s arms. From there, her friend breaks down, heaving sobs wracking her body.

There is pain in her cries, and Sansa’s heart clenches at them, as they sound familiar. After all, she made the same cries in King’s Landing. Over Jeyne’s shoulder, she meets the eyes of her previous handmaiden.

The woman looks bedraggled, but no less whole, like the rest of the group. A thick cloak over her shivering body, unused to the cold, the older girl looks uncertain with how Sansa will react. So shifting Jeyne to one side without letting her go, Sansa opens her other arm. Shae smiles and willingly enters the hug, her own arms coming around both Sansa and Jeyne, hugging them tight. The three girls holding each other close, basking in the reunion. Sansa can not begin to describe how happy she is today. Right now, the execution of Lord Bolton seems miles away with how much she is filled with love at the moment.

Then Shae whispers ever so softly in her ear,

“ _Littlefinger had her in his brothel_.”

Sansa has to force her body to not tense at the words, and gently pulls away. Meeting Shae’s eyes hazel eyes, the woman nods in confirmation, and Sansa has to take a closer look at Jeyne.

In the hug, Sansa noticed she was awfully thin, but now she can see the gauntness of her face, how hollowed out her eyes look, haunted by whatever abuse she went through.

A rage ignites in her heart, and it’s only the promise she made to Lord Royce that stops Sansa from ordering Cor to kill Baelish, or hell, even killing him herself. So instead, she focuses on her friend and speaks softly, not wanting too many to over hear, as they have drawn a small crowd on onlookers.

“Jeyne. Unfortunately, Lord Baelish is here.” Said girl freezes like a deer caught by a hunter, so Sansa hurriedly continues, softly caressing her dirty hair trying to soothe her. “But he will make no move towards you, I _promise_. You are _safe_ here, and I will not let anything happen to you again. If he tries anything, you tell me.”

Jeyne gives a jerking nod, and cupping the girl’s cheeks, Sansa gives her forehead a firm kiss before withdrawing. She turns back to her guards, who are watching with assessing eyes.

“Mya, please lead Jeyne and Shae to my chambers, and call for a bath please.” The older girl nods and gestures for said girls to follow. Both look back at Sansa, uncertain, before Shae gently takes Jeyne’s arm and leads her after Mya.

After watching their retreating backs for a short second, Sansa then looks to the man standing next to Arya, his large frame looking humorous next to her tiny form. He spots her watching him and nervously falls into a sloppy bow. “I’m Gendry Waters, your Majesty.”

“‘ _Waters_ ’?” Sansa repeats, eyebrow rising. He shifts his eyes to Arya, uncertain, and her sister rolls her eyes.

“Robert’s bastard.” Arya states, and Sansa nods in understanding.

Lyn makes a hum in interest, “Mya’s half brother then, huh.”

Ellina sighs, exasperated. “Wonderful. Now we have two possible contenders for the Iron Throne.”

Arya snorts at that, seeing the way Gendry blanches at Ellina’s words.

With a small smile, Sansa gestures for them to follow after her into Winterfell.

As they walk across the courtyard, Sansa spots Cor, leaning against the partially opened doors into the Winterfell castle. His face is blank as he observes the people with her, and Sansa gives a soft nod. She watches his shoulders relax a bit, understanding that none of them are a threat. Then he gives a soft point with head to the direction of the balconies, a casual gesture but Sansa follows where he is pointing to. With a flick of her eyes, Sansa spots Lord Baelish, watching in the shadows. Pursing her lips, Sansa keeps her pace steady, pretending she doesn’t see the man.

Cor must notice her tension, with the way his eyes pinch at the corner. But he keeps calm and when Sansa gets closer, he gives a short bow and opens the large doors for them so they may all enter. Falling into a relaxed pace by her side, he asks with false disinterest, 

“Just saw Mya with two girls go to your rooms.” The statement is left open, waiting for her explanation. Her lips quirk at the way he tries to dig for information, as if she won’t just tell him. He would do terribly in court, surrounded by the Lannisters. But where he fails in political talk, he makes up for it in swordsmanship, so she doesn’t worry too much about how bad he is at it. She can teach him in time.

Back to the conversation, Sansa confirms his unspoken question, “Jeyne Poole and Shae. Jeyne is my childhood friend whom I thought dead. Shae was my handmaiden in King’s Landing.”

Cor looked contemplatively at Sansa, but didn’t say anything until they turned down a more empty hallway.

“So how did they get here then?”

It’s Arya who answers, Cor twisting his head around slightly to glance at her whilst she speaks. “Shae was the Imp’s whore, and he sent her away before the Purple Wedding. She ended up hiding in a brothel, which was where she met Jeyne. They didn’t really say much about what happened, but when Shae found out who Jeyne was, and how she was connected to you, Shae decided to escape King’s Landing with Jeyne, and head North. We ran into one another at the Twins.”

Sansa stops in her tracks and whirls around to stare at her sister aghast. “ _The Twins!?_ ” She hisses out, unable to stop the flare of worry that ignites in her chest.

Arya meets her eyes straight on and speaks lowly, “I killed the Freys. _All of them._ ” The solemness of her voice reminds Sansa of their father, but he would never wipe out an entire house. A cruel part of her is pleased though, that Robb and her mother got the justice they deserved.

‘ _But how did Arya even manage to kill them all?_ ’ She wonders, a pit of dread pooling in her stomach. Instead of asking, Sansa swallows the question down and asks instead.

“What of our Uncle Edmure? Or some of the other imprisoned lords?”

Arya gave her an almost knowing look, as if she suspected what Sansa really wanted to ask. Instead of calling her out on that fact, she answers with a casual shrug.

“I’m sure they escaped, but I was too busy with getting Shae and Jeyne across safely and head to Winterfell. We ran into Gendry here on the road. Apparently escaping from being sacrificed to the fire god, or whatever, by Stannis and his witch.”

There was a huff of laughter from Cor, and they look at him as he assess Arya, “Sounds like quite the adventure.”

Arya narrows her eyes at Cor, and asks cooly, “And who are you?”

“Cor Leonis. Sansa’s Shield.” He answers with an eased tone, as if Arya’s hidden threat in her voice was amusing. The relaxed confidence he has, verses Arya’s tense, defensive stance is not something Sansa wants to be caught in the middle of.

Clearing her throat, Sansa turns and continues to her rooms, listening as the others fall behind. She never thought of the possibility of her family meeting Cor, and now that Arya has, she is confused on her feelings. On one hand, she is proud to have Cor in her life, and is happy for him to meet her family. But on the other side, how in the seven hells does she begin to explain everything to them!? So much has happened, and even when they explained it to Lord Royce, they kept it short and to the point. They didn’t even broach the topic of how Cor and Sansa’s relationship truly started, never mind the fact that only just this morning they’ve moved from platonic to romantic.

And then there was the magic.

She watched how Arya didn’t even react to the way the Castle sang and screamed it’s welcome back for another Stark. And Sansa felt the way the Castle crooned in sadness when Arya never reached back. She thought that Arya, who was more Northern than her, would be able to feel the magic of the lands around them. But she doesn’t. And when Sansa hugged the girl, she felt this strange lingering of death and emptiness around her sister, like she was just a wisp of smoke.

Biting her lip, Sansa enters her solar, hearing the faint splashes of water in her bedroom, where Jeyne and Shae are bathing. Mya stands sentry outside her bedroom door, giving a nod in greeting as they enter the room. 

‘ _I will have to discuss this with her privately._ ’ Sansa decides as the door closes behind her. Going over to her desk, she undoes her cloak and lays it against the back of her chair, and turns back to her sister and Gendry. Gesturing for them to sit, Sansa takes her seat, Cor moving to her right shoulder, and Lyn and Ellina flanking the main door to the bedroom.

Lacing her fingers, she meets their gazes and says, tone serious, “There is much to go over. I will start with the most important things. Rickon and Bran are alive, somewhere. All the houses of the North have gathered to prepare for the war with the Night King and the White walkers, and Stannis Baratheon is at the Wall, still trying to get the Iron Throne. Also, Daenerys Targaryen has three dragons and wants the throne as well.”

Both look shocked at all the information, though Arya hides it a little better than Gendry. With a rueful smile, Sansa fills them in on all the details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The girls are back! Woo!   
> Edit: Alright so i posted this without adding italics and then fucked off to a movie. But I‘m back and edited like I wanted to  
> Alright os, Arya aint feeling the magic and there is a reason why though I’m sure many of you have figured it out. And I moved the timeline up (again) so Arya killed the frey’s a little earlier than in the show. But I needed the ball rolling, and she needed to be in Winterfell. And apparently, Shae was 18! In the books! She’s so young! A baby! Also, the lack of good friendship between Jeyne and Sansa fanfics make mer very unhappy. So she is back and Sansa has more friends around her! 
> 
> And how about that kiss, huh? Those two are smitten with one another it genuinely makes me smile anytime i write them.
> 
> Thank you for reading! until next time


	24. Discussions and Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cor is for the feminist movement and agonises over teen hormones
> 
> (Also everyone is bi until proven otherwise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All deep discussions are cut short by need for introspection. Brought to you by someone who can’t be bothered to write Arya’s entire journey!

When they finished talking, the sun had almost set. A orange hue was parting through the overcast clouds, soft flutters of snow trailing down from the sky. Sansa had requested food to be brought up in the middle of the talk, seeing as they would be running past dinner time. Jeyne and Shae had finished bathing and dressing during the beginning of the conversation, and Sansa was quick to have Lyn show them where they would be sleeping.

The chambers where Beth and the She-wolfs stayed was a fairly large room, and in the time it took for Lyn to bring them to their new quarters, Mya was smart quick enough to have a pallet set out for each of them. They would have proper beds brought in tomorrow, but for now, they will have to make do.

The reunion between Beth and Jeyne was as tearful as Sansa’s was, and a part of her she didn’t know was tense with uncertainty, unraveled. The sight of her friends, now safe and with her, was something she though she would never see again. Tonight was one of rest and recuperation, but tomorrow, Sansa would have to discuss with all her ladies where they were to go from here. 

She wants to make Jeyne her steward, as she is the last Poole and someone Sansa can trust. It also would give the girl something to keep her busy with and hopefully help with her healing. Jeyne, though a girl, was raised by her father on the knowledge of how to help run Winterfell, as it was the job Jeyne would inherit seeing as Vayon had no sons. Who is Sansa to take away her family right to Stewardship, when she herself is still in a precarious position as queen until her brothers are found.

‘ _I just have to prove to them that I’m just as capable as any man._ ’ Sansa had thought with determination.

And then Shae, who was a whore and not particularly the best handmaiden. But her courage and loyalty is something that Sansa favours more. Tomorrow, Sansa would put out the offer of her becoming one of her She-wolf guards. If Shae wishes to continue her previous profession, Sansa would allow it. But something tells her that Shae doesn’t want to go back to that life.

Gendry, once informing Sansa his talent as a blacksmith, is happy to take up the job again. Cal is the only other person with the skills, and Sansa is sure he would be relived to have another person helping him on the job. It’s actually as she is discussing this with Gendry that Beth comes forward.

Timidly, the girl asks if she could take up her father’s pervious job of Master-at-arms. Sansa would be happy to oblige, but the only problem is that Beth wasn’t trained to fight. However, as Sansa was about to decline her, Cor offers to teach her.

Through out the talk with her sister and Gendry, getting them updated, Cor had kept quiet, even when they came to the part of the discussion where Cor had summoned an undead army. Arya gave him an unreadable look, but never said anything. It wasn’t until Beth had stepped into the room after showing Jeyne and Shae their room, that Cor said something.

“You teach girls to fight too then?” Arya had asked, perhaps a bit snidely, after Cor made the offer to Beth. Sansa is sure her sister means well, just trying to test Cor to see where he stands with the idea of girls being able to fight. ‘ _She must be wanting to challenge him_.’ Sansa figures, eyeing the way Arya causally grips the hilt of her sheathed sword. But it was still rude of her to speak with such a tone.

Cor on the other hand doesn’t rise to the bait, just raises an eyebrow before remarking, “I taught Sansa how to defend herself and her guards on how to fight. Still training them actually. What does gender have to do with anything?” He said blithedly, as if he doesn’t know the restrictions on the women of this world.

It was actually interesting how Winterfell and the men in it reacted to learning that Cor was happy to train women just as equally as men. Sansa knows he comes from a world where the gender roles are more blurred than the defined ones here. Some soldiers had made a few rude remarks on Cor training women, which Cor was happy to beat them into the ground in response, calling it ‘extra training’.

After that, anyone who was against it kept it to themselves., and soon enough quite a few other women were stepping forward with requests of joining in with her She-wolves. Though a few didn’t want to join the army, they just wanted to have the chance that was never offered to them.

And then the Northern houses came, and Alysane Mormont was happy to join in on the training, citing her reasons to Cor that ‘ _You are a man, and there are somethings a man can’t teach a woman_.’ And Cor just rolled his eyes in reply but allowed her to help train the girls.

At one point whilst strolling through the keep with Lord Royce, Sansa and him had come across the scene of Alysane and Cor sparing, a massive crowd around them. Cor won, of course, but that isn’t to say Alysane was terrible. Everyone is terrible when compared to Cor because he trained with a god for months. There is also the fact that he is a prodigy when it comes to fighting.

But Alysane still put up an amazing fight, and beat all the timings of those who tried to fight Cor previously, lasting longer than any of them. At the end of the fight, Cor had broke a sweat and there was a feral, pleased grin crossing his face. Alysane looked satisfied as well, and a strange friendship was made between them. Sansa was just happy Cor had made another friend, and in a way, secured a possible alliance with the Mormonts. Cor may be terrible at the ways of politics, but it seems he has found his own strategy.

But back to the conversation, Cor had finished his statement to Arya and turned back to Beth, effectively ending the argument that Arya tried to start. Sansa loves her sister, but there was still a ways to go for her when it comes to learning how to communicate with others that doesn’t include starting arguments. Feeling exasperated at the sight of her sister mildly fuming, Sansa decided they need to have their private conversation now.

She leaves Cor to talk with Beth, knowing he will fill her in later, and guides Arya to her old rooms. Mya is more than happy to sweep Gendry away, the poor boy looking panicked as she man-handles him down the hall.

The space around them is silent as they walk through their family halls. Where Sansa has by now gotten used to the wonder of being back home, Arya is taking it all in with faintly widened eyes. Since arriving, her sister has had this haunted, cold look in her gaze. But as they step into her room, they begin to faintly tear up at the sight of it, memories seeming to overwhelm her.

Closing the door softly behind her, Sansa gently places her hand on Arya’s shoulder, offering comfort. Her sister gives a weak smile and quickly wipes away her tears.

Now that they are alone, Sansa feels the distance between them more pronounced than before. She has no idea what Arya must’ve gone through for Sansa to sense the hollowness in her sister, but she hopes that her little sister hasn’t changed too much.

“What happened? After they took Father prisoner.” Sansa quietly asked. Arya doesn’t respond right away, just moves to sit on her bed, silently offering the space next to her for Sansa. As she sits, Sansa takes off her boots so that she may curl up on the bed, Arya mirroring her.

“I hid in flea bottom. I cut off my hair and pretended to be a boy. This man of the night’s watch, Yoren, he shielded me from seeing Father-.” Cutting herself off, Arya takes a deep, shaky breath, and then continues. “And he was going to take me to the North.” There was a heavy blankness to her voice, as if she is lost in the memories, words coming out automatically.

But Sansa was startled by her tale, “You were there? When Father-“

Arya cuts her off, the same way she did to herself as if she doesn’t want to hear Sansa speak about their father’s death, nodding. “Yeah. By a statue.”

“Oh.” She breathes. Meeting her sister’s eyes, she gently encourages her to continue. “What happened next?”

They spent awhile in Arya’s room, Sansa listening to her talk, hearing her journey home. A few times she interrupts, either to get clarification or the exclaim in shock or fear at some of the things her younger sister had to go through. When they get to the part of Arya training to become an assassin, a ‘ _Faceless man_ ’ according to her sister, Sansa begins to understand, horrified, how her sister’s magic has become this hollow void, ready for the next face to be drawn on.

It makes sense for her magic to be like that. It sounds as if you have to get rid of your entire identity to become a faceless man, and with that, apparently Arya had lost her Stark magic along the way, replacing it with this new magic.

Her heart aches at the thought of losing your identity. Even when she was Alayne Stone, she never truly was able to get rid of her true identity. Her hand had reached out and grasped Arya’s, needing to reassure herself that Arya was still there, still herself. Arya gripped her hand just as tightly.

It was too late in the night to broach the topic of the family magic, so Sansa decided to explain that tomorrow, wanting to show her the heart of Winterfell. Hopefully, Arya could regain the family magic. She didn’t like the blank, coldness in her sister that this new magic has dug it’s fingers into her, replacing the warmth that is the Stark magic.

When Arya winds down from her story, she asks Sansa, “Just who is Cor? He isn’t from Westeros, is he?” She questions with a confused curiosity. Unwillingly, a small smile appears across Sansa’s face at the thought of Cor.

The entire story would take a very long time to explain, time they don’t have right now. So she summarises. “Through old magic, and maybe some god’s intervention, we met. And he was someone I could trust fully. Everyone around me, I doubted or feared. But Cor, he wasn’t involved in any kind of politics or manipulations in Westeros. He was new, and honest, and _so kind_.” She pauses, and then admits, “It also helped that we were only vulnerable and so open with each other because I thought he was someone I dreamt. And he thought I was a ghost haunting him.” She laughs a little, remembering her indignation at the very thought of being seen as a ghost.

Arya is listening with rapid attention, so Sansa continues. “He taught me to defend myself, giving me a blade.”

Her sister exclaimed, “ _A blade!?_ Are you sure your my sister?” She teases, and Sansa grins with her.

“I was shocked too. But it helped me. And because of him, it saved my life. Because of him, I felt brave again, and I managed to get our home back. And for that I will always be grateful to him.” She trails off, lost in her emotions.

“ _You love him._ ” Arya whispers in disbelief, and Sansa meets her eyes, jarred from her thoughts. Biting her lip, Sansa nods, hesitant.

Her sister was now the first to know, and a part of her is fearful on how she will react. She wants Arya to accept Cor, to know he isn’t like Joffrey. That her infatuation for Joffrey was nothing compared to how deeply, achingly, in love she is with Cor.

Arya seems to be searching for something on her face, and Sansa allows her face to stay as vulnerable as it has been since their private conversation. Whatever she sees, she nods with some kind of satisfaction.

“He seems better than Joffrey. I will have to fight him anyways, _of course_.” Arya informs her imperiously. Throwing her head back laughing, Sansa tugs her sister into a tight hug, murmuring her ‘ _thank you’s’_. Relief is flooding her body, and she has no worries that Cor and Arya will get along. Their headstrong stubbornness may be a problem though, but hopefully Cor’s more controlled demeanour will help diffuse any future arguments.

After bidding her sister good night, Sansa heads back to her rooms, thoughts racing with new tasks that must be started tomorrow. She will need to make clothes of protection for her Arya, Jeyne, and Shae. Her other friends already have them, so they will need them now. And some warmer clothes for Shae, who will have a tough time adjusting to the colder climate.

Upon entering her room, it was empty. So going into the bedroom, mind still caught up in her thoughts, she spots Cor relaxing in a bath tub by the fire, and stops abruptly. He is lounging against the back of the tub, head tilted back, exposing his neck. Unable to stop herself, Sansa felt her eyes slowly trailing down his chest, take in the lean muscles on it and his arms. The orange light of the fireplace and the candles dotted about the room, casted a golden light on his wet body, and it allowed her to notice the trail of scars on his chest and forearms. ‘ _From past battles._ ’ Sansa distantly figured, mind fully focused on taking in the scene in front of her. The fire light glows bright on the dog tags and amulet that sits on his wet chest, softly moving up and down to the time of his breathing.

She drags her eyes back up to his face and freezes. He had cracked his eyes open during her ogling, and is watching her with an amused look, eyes half-way open. He doesn’t make to moveor tell her to look away, so Sansa doesn’t. Her face is flushed, she can feel it, and finally closes the door behind her. She stays leaning against it, unable to look away but also unable to move from her position.

She had always acknowledged that he was good looking, even from their first meeting. As time went on, she started to see more sides to the boy she met in the desert. The ferociousness in battle, the lack of self-confidence that he held, tucked away behind a face of indifference. The calm, confidence that he radiates in a fight, which disappeared when he confessed his love and kissed her. That raw, open wound-like emotions that painted across his face as she returned his affections. The almost reverent expression he shows her when she does something that seems to impress him.

Sansa has seen many sides to this boy, and still thought he was beautiful. But now faced with the physical attractiveness that he holds, Sansa has to finally acknowledge that she wasn’t just drawn to his personality and kindness. In the firelight, she finally admits that yes, he is very attractive.

Closing her eyes, she sucks in a deep breath and moves to the changing screen. Stepping behind the barrier, her flush doesn’t disappear as she begins to change. As the dress pools to her feet, her ears pick up the sound of splashing water and wet feet on the ground. Clenching her eyes closed, trying to banish the inappropriate thoughts that begin to race through her mind, she takes another deep breath and finishes taking off her corset and underthings.

As the cool air touches her bare skin, Sansa suddenly becomes vividly aware of how she is naked in a room with a boy, only a thin screen between them. Mouth dry, she swallows and tugs on her sleeping gown inelegantly.

The clearing of a throat has her pulse racing harder, and she calls out, “Yes?” Inwardly Sansa curses at herself for how her voice wavers. Fortunately, Cor either doesn’t notice or decides to ignore it.

“I’ve finished changing, so you can come out whenever you are done.” His voice is as calm and collected as it usually is, and Sansa finds herself glaring at the wall, finding the way he takes all this in his stride annoying. ‘ _How is he so calm!?’_ Her internal voice screams.

With another deep breath, she relaxes her tense shoulders and steps out, face calmer than she truly feels. Which of course cracks as soon as the sight of him leaning against one of the bedposts, with only a pair of cotton trousers on, catches her eye.

She doesn’t know what expression she must be making, but it must be awfully hilarious with how Cor snorts in amusement. He has his arms folded against his bare chest, and she can’t help feeling furious at how easily he can tear down all of her perfectly made walls.

Turning her nose up, she sniffs, “Wearing no shirt is impractical in such cold temperatures.”

“Good thing we can share body heat.” He retorts, tone just as amused as his expression.

Sansa stumbles a bit on her way to her side of the bed, and _since when did it become her side!?_ She is impressed with how her body hasn’t fainted from the amount of embarrassment she is feeling at the moment. Turning to glare back at Cor, he just grins in reply and slips under the covers. When settled, he looks up at her, eyes wide in fake innocence, and pats the space besides him.

Cor has faced many things in his life, with barely a blink or a flinch. Out numbered one to twenty? _Easy_. Facing a god in battle? _Done that_. Thrust into a new world? Take over the army within days and establish himself as leader. But the sight of Sansa looking over him like a piece of meat, and she was a starving wolf? He is impressed with himself at how in controlled he manages to stay despite how much he feels the urge to jump out of the bath and drag her into a kiss.

All thoughts of the mild terror of water had disappeared the second she unknowingly gave him such a heated look. The second she had scurried behind the changing screen, face bright as a tomato, Cor had bit his knuckle, repressing the urge to groan.

He is a trained soldier, in control of his mind and body, but apparently his hormones _hadn’t gotten the memo_. Giving his face a scrub, trying to clear his mind, Cor pulls himself out of the bath and quickly dries himself.

Sansa in nowhere near ready for anything of the more sexual nature in a relationship. She hadn’t said anything, but even he can pick up the way she still flinches at the sight of larger men or raised voices. Even with him, it would take awhile for her to grow confident enough. Though, with a sigh of exasperation, he knows if he brought up her not being ready up enough, she would probably argue against that.

And maybe, he isn’t ready himself. He had never been with another, just a couple of quick handjobs with some of the other soldiers, though even those didn’t happen often with how young he was. Having lied about his age at thirteen so he could join the army, it was almost an open secret that he was not of the legal age of fifteen to being fighting. It was only in his last year of service, finally actually the right age, did he and a new recruit get up to few late night meetings.

But other than that, he has never had a proper relationship, and a part of him wonders if Sansa and him are going too fast with their relationship. He knows that being forced into battle-like situations and other tense scenarios do not make up a good foundation for a relationship. Especially one, by what Sansa had accidentally suggested, that may lead to marriage.

He knows he is already gone for her, and any other possible person would cause a divide in his loyalty for her. A different partner would most likely not accept that he would be putting his queen and friend before them. So he could see how Cor and Sansa’s relationship would lead to a more permanent binding.

But for Astral’s sake he’s only _fifteen_! Maybe sixteen, he isn’t quite sure how the calendar works here. But that’s besides the point. Getting married that young was almost frowned upon in Eos. But in Westeros it was definitely acceptable.

And then there was the consummation.

He most definitely knows that he wishes to have sex with her in the future, but his knowledge on medieval contraceptions is a bit lacking. So early pregnancy out of marriage is not what he wants for Sansa, especially with how they view bastards here.

Taking a steady breath, he pulls on his pants and lets Sansa know he had finished dressing.

The indignant look across her face is confusing and amusing at once. She seemed calm but the second she caught sight of him, her face screwed up in this mixture of annoyance, frustration, and embarrassment. Snorting, Cor watches as she puts on the air of a snobbish noble, and snidely remarks that he should put on a shirt.

‘ _Ah, so she is still flustered._ ’ Cor realises, pleased with how he can make her react in ways no one else can. He hoards all these small moments, starting from when he called her insane when they first met to now. Of course, he wasn’t treasuring those moments of childishness she showed to him until they really started to get to know one another. It wasn’t until he came here and saw the way she put on a mask of a polite and calm lady, hiding all the child-like tendencies behind it, that he suddenly realised how much she was truly showing herself when it was just them and Gilgamesh.

So he started to collect all the honest emotions she showed him, and kept them close. It helped to remind him that despite the way he almost holds her up on a pedestal, that she is still a person. Still a child, like him.

But that doesn’t stop him from teasing back, poking at her fragile masks, trying to get a true reaction out of her.

When both are tucked into bed, he gently pulls her close, and Cor watches as her eye flutter shut, leaning into his hand. A soft kiss is placed on her lips and he holds her close, allowing the day’s exhaustion to over take him.

They are still young. They have plenty of time to grow up after the war. For now though, all thoughts of marriage, sex, and relationships are shut away to the back of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa @arya: He is so kind and understanding
> 
> Also Sansa: that body tho
> 
> Sansa: I’m a queen and very much in control of my life and my kingdom
> 
> Also Sansa: Oh no hes hot
> 
> Gilgamesh who is checking in on them: these fucking kids I swear-
> 
> Sansa, butterfly meme: *Cor in bath tub* is this a sexual awakening
> 
> Cor: contraceptions!? Marriage!? 
> 
> Me: Oh shit i’ve being spelling she-wolfs wrong this entire time. 
> 
> Also me: Hey so when do either them have their birthdays? Cor has to be 16 now and Sansa coming up to 15
> 
> Yeah so that was the jokes running through my head as I wrote this chapter. I did not expect the sudden thirst in Sansa to rear it’s head back, but eh, she’s a teenaged girl. Thats normal. And yeah, sex won’t happen for a veeeeeery long time. And I certainly won’t be writing smut, as I have no idea how and really dont want to embarrass myself.
> 
> Arya is 12, she’s a kid, and despite learning how to kill, surprise surprise! That doesn’t make you suddenly more mature or whatever. She’s just a child, and still has a long ways to go in maturing, so she will act childish, just like all the other kids will at different points. To be honest, Arya sometimes pissed me off in the show, and how everyone was pitting the stark sisters against one another instead of focusing on the fact that they should be working together. So they are a unit and they will let nothing come between them again. 
> 
> Also, the slow take over of women coming into power or joining the military was what Cor wants. Inequality Whom? Anytime someone says something about women being weaker he will just look confused and watch them dig their own grave. 
> 
> (Also, hey mum if you actually read this please stop it was really awkward to write blowjob with the knowledge that you are reading my work.)
> 
> Until next time!


	25. Into the depths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter from Jon has Sansa spurred into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of whipping and forced prostitution.

Jon’s letter arrived the next morning, whilst Sansa was making her usual rounds around the keep. After waking up and dressing, Cor leaving before her like usual, she went to see Shae and Jeyne, wanting to talk through possible jobs. With winter coming, there was a need for all hands on deck, and the quicker tasks and jobs are found for everyone the better the running of the castle.

Shae was happy to retake up her role as her handmaiden, but when made the offer of learning to fight, she readily accepted. Though she still argued that she would still like her job as her maid to be her main one.

“I’m happy to learn how to fight, but I would rather not if I can help it.” Shae had explained, and Sansa was only too happy to take her back on, understanding her lack of desire to be a guard.

Jeyne, when offered to be her Steward, was hesitant at first, unsure if she was fit for the job. Sansa could see the pain and abuse she went through constantly haunting her mind, so with a silent look at Shae to leave, Sansa figured it was best to finally talk about what both of them went through in King’s Landing.

Forced to be a whore, Jeyne had refused at first, trying to put up a fight. She said that Lord Baelish promised to keep her safe. And then he made her learn to be a prostitute, learning how to pleasure men even though they were older than her, and she didn’t want to. She said she pleaded with him, _begging_ to not have to sell her body.

At her refusal, she had been whipped into submission, until her back was flayed and she had cried and begged for them to stop. The pain so unbearable she felt that she was almost on death’s doorstep. After that, Jeyne did everything that was ordered of her.

She whispered to Sansa that she was nearly wed to Ramsey, was going to have to pretend to be Arya. But when Joffrey died, and Lord Baelish had left, Shae arrived. The elder girl had noticed Jeyne’s misery and saw the abuse inflicted on her back. Upon gaining each other’s trust, and then learning about one another and their connection to Sansa, Shae promised to help Jeyne escape, to which Jeyne said she will only leave if Shae comes with her.

The journey to the Twins, and subsequently meeting Arya was difficult and they had to hide and sleep in trees and bushes. With the roads being unsafe for two, defenceless women, there was a constant fear and panic running through their blood.

Jeyne whispered the confession that she saw Shae selling her body for money so that they could survive on the long journey ahead of them. Crying, Jeyne admitted that she was too cowardly, too _afraid_ to do such a thing. The thought of having to do that job again, when she thought she was free from such abuse, sent waves of fear through her. She had felt terrible for letting such things happen to Shae and be unable to help or even stop it.

Sansa had just held her close as she weeped, her own tears of understanding flowing down her cheeks. Curled up next to one another, reminiscent of their time as young girls, Sansa whispered her own abuse back. Speaking softly of how she too has scars littering her back. Of how Joffrey had taken enjoyment out of watching her be beaten by his guards. The terror she lived, day by day, surrounded by enemies and unable to show any fear.

The two girls had laid there, mourning their loss of innocence. Mourning how their bodies were the battleground upon which their childhoods had died.

“We are stronger than any of those who have hurt us.” Sansa had whispered fiercely. “ _We are alive_ and we are _free_. If you never wish to lie with a man of your own choosing, then you never will. All that I ask is that you become my Steward, for no one but you would be perfect for that task, as I trust most _fervently_ , Jeyne.”

Lip wobbling, Jeyne bites it as she gives Sansa a frantic nod in agreement, tears of desperate elation running down her cheeks, yearning to have a purpose again.

Helping her get dressed, Sansa had led Jeyne and their guard, Ellina, to her study. She had some paperwork to go through, and seeing as Jeyne was much better at numbers than she was, Sansa was happy to give those papers over to her friend. Jeyne seemed eager to have something to do so that she may forget her pain, even if it’s temporary. Sansa knew she guessed right on that, as she herself thrusted her mind and body into keeping the North unified and safe, happy to ignore the nightmares that still haunt her dreams.

Lately though, it’s less of King’s Landing and more of something stranger. She kept seeing the ghostly hand over her face. The flashes of another’s life, dying in the hot springs. She knew it was a Stark, the one who died for the Castle’s protection. But upon going through the family tree, she was unable to find out which Stark. Even all the way back to Bran the Builder, there is no mention of him having any siblings, or children who had died.

She was heavily frustrated, and in the back of her mind everyday, she kept hearing the soft voice of the Stark, whispering words that Sansa was unable to articulate. She hears what is said, understands every word, but when she opens her mouth, she cannot speak it. It’s getting to the point where she was tempted to storm back down the steps and fling herself back into the waters so that they can finally talk.

The castle was no help as well. Anytime she reached out to the entity, it would just give this hum, as if telling her to be patient.

‘ _What’s the point of a magic castle if they don’t tell you anything important_.’ Sansa had growled in her mind in annoyance. But she had to push that mystery to the side, even though the dreams were starting to get more vivid. Instead she focused on her more physical magic, making protective cloaks and clothes. The She-wolves had gotten involved, and though their magic is slowly building, it hasn’t gotten to the level of power she is at.

It was _fascinating_ to watch other people make magic, seeing the way Ellina’s neat stitches had the subtle glow of protective magic weaved through out the rows. Lyn had picked up healing magic quite well, studying under Sansa who was teaching her songs in the old language.

Mya on the other hand, wasn’t picking up the more finesse magic as well as the other two were. Her frustration had her sniping at the other girls, taking her anger out on practice dummies, decimating them into splinters. Cor, after a week of watching her destroy his training ground hadfinally snapped and pulled her aside.

She didn’t know exactly what they discussed, but Mya had seemed to calm down. And Cor had this smug look across his face for the entire day. It took some cajoling that evening, but she finally managed to wear Cor down enough for him to tell her the gist of it.

Apparently her magic was more similar to what occurs in his world, elemental or more physical, powerful magics.

Unlike her’s, where there is a subtlety and an eye for detail, Eos’s type of magic is made for battle. Hard hitting and intense power, it can level battlefields if it’s powerful enough. Mya has that kind of magic, and Cor is more than willing to teach her how to harness it properly without overdoing it or accidentally destroying the entire keep.

Sansa had asked what kind of magic he could do then, because she had never seen him use it except for when he would pull items out of what he called ‘The armiger’. A pocket dimension, though even that confused her. But even that apparently wasn’t all he could do.

“Basic elemental use. But I’m more adept at, _body magic_ , I guess you could call it. I’m able to enhance my strength or my speed so that I’m quicker and stronger than most humans. It makes it easier when fighting daemons, which are more powerful than regular people.” Cor had informed her.

But even then, he only uses it sparingly, and since he arrived here, he hasn’t used it at all. He’s just _that_ good in a fight. He called it a last resort, as it tires him out if he uses it too much in a battle.

Mya was able to summon up lightning and, according to Cor, if she is strong enough she could call upon storms. The other two girls were suitably impressed by her powers, and Mya had been able to calm down on her anger and stopped lashing out at them. Ellina and Lyn had teased her a little, but were forgiving of Mya’s reactions.

But along with those three and their magic, Beth seemed to have a minor knack in it as well. Cor called it ‘ _sixth sense_ ’, but the basic of it was that she intuitively knew friends from foes, able to discern people intentions if she spends a certain amount of time around them. It wasn’t that she could read their minds. Beth had described it as a gut instinct, of knowing who she could trust and couldn’t.

From the coo that the castle emitted anytime Sansa was near to Beth, she got the feeling that Winterfell had helped the girl manifest these abilities so that she could survive. Every now and then Sansa or Cor would spot Beth softly talking to the castle when no one else was watching, gently running her hand against its stone walls.

Where Sansa, as a Stark, had the inbuilt ability to never get lost in the castle and able to commune with the keep, Beth it seems was able to know everything that was happening in the walls at all times. Sansa would feel jealous of the connection if she wasn’t in awe of that magic. And the fact that it saved Beth time and again as she survived during the Boltons’ rule.

So every now and then, Beth would find Sansa and tell her of things that were happening in the walls, such as disputes with the other lords and ladies. Or possible spies sneaking around. In a way, Beth had become her master of whispers.

It’s actually Beth who comes to inform Sansa, as she and Jeyne are walking through the halls, that the letter from Jon had arrived. Trotting up to them, Sansa takes a second to marvel how far her younger friend had come since she retook Winterfell. Her darker skin, which was a horrible grey from being out of the sunlight and struggling to survive for so long, had regain it’s colour. Her brown eyes had it’s shine back, and every step she took had a small bounce of joy in it. Sansa couldn’t be more happy for how cheerful her friend has become again.

Holding out the scroll, Sansa is quick to break the seal and reveal it’s contents. They had been irregularly conversing since she sent the first letter. Jon was relieved to hear she was safe and that their home is their’s again. After revealing the fact that she was aware of the threat beyond the walls, Jon and her were quick to discuss strategy and a temporary alliance with the Free folk. However, with Stannis apparently still at the wall, there was some contention with her ‘ _Allowing Wildlings into my lands_.’

It was getting frustrating from both her and Jon, making it difficult to make any good alliance with the Free folk.

‘ _Queen Sansa,_

_I will be frank with you. King Stannis wishes to meet with you and have you bend the knee, along with the North. My argument of you being too busy having to run Winterfell is no longer working, and his demands are getting louder. Lucky enough he hasn’t allowed his red witch to burn any of my men, but I could see the way he is getting more irritable. There was also a report from one of the Free folk who said to have over heard that the witch wishes to sacrifice Stannis’ daughter to their fire god._

_I fear for her life, Sansa. I know how busy you are with preparing everything for the war, but please, if you can, come to the Wall to meet with Stannis._

_Your brother,_

_Jon’_

Sansa has to lean against the wall, trying to understand the contents of the letter. ‘ _Sacrifice his daughter!?_ ’ She inwardly cried, worry and anger coursing through her. ‘ _How could a parent do that?_ ’

“Sansa?” Jeyne asks, voice soft and worried. She opens her eyes, not even realising that they were closed, and meets the concerned looks of her friends. Letting out a shaky exhale, she calms her panicked heart as best as she can and hands Jeyne the letter.

It doesn’t take long to read, and soon she too is looking unsettled.

“Would he really do that?”

Sansa sighs, fingers coming up to rub at her temples. “According to reports, he’s already burnt many people already.”

“ _It’s like the second coming of the mad king_.” Jeyne whispers, horrified, and Sansa nods in nervous agreement.

Hurried foots steps then reach their ears, and as one, the four females turn to look down the hall.Sweeping down the hall towards them, black cloak flowing behind, Cor comes to a stop at a distance, assessing the scene, before continuing his approach. There is a minor heaviness in his breathing, indicating he had ran the way here. His face is it’s usual sternness but the furrow of his brow belies his worry. 

‘ _He must’ve felt my unease._ ’ Sansa realises, fondly watching her Shield as he reaches her side. His grey-blue eyes flick between them, and wordlessly Sansa takes the letter from Jeyne’s hand and gives it to him to read.

She watches as his face hardens, eyes becoming cold with anger. Meeting her gaze, she nods. “We will be traveling to the Wall it seems.”

After sending Beth to gather some servants to alert the Northern houses, Sansa hurries to the great hall, knowing that this is a meeting that must be discussed with the lords and ladies. She is the first to arrive, and settles at the front of the hall, her guards flanking her. Slowly, the Northern nobles trickle in, taking their seats, murmuring softly to one another.

When the doors shut behind the last to arrive, Sansa waits a minute for everyone to be seated before rising to discuss the letter.

“I’ve received word from the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch that Stannis Baratheon is demanding my presence. I would be _happy_ to ignore it, as we have more important things to be concerned about than a failing king.”

There was some faint chuckles but most kept silent, waiting for her to continue.

“However, it seems that he is taking his burning sacrifices to another level. It is believed that he is planning to burn his daughter and only heir for the favour of his god.”

There were mutters of disgust and disapproval. Sansa whole-heartedly agrees with their reactions, pleased she isn’t the only one unhappy about this. Lord Manderly then rises, and all heads turn to him.

“Though I’m horrified by what Lord Baratheon plans to do, I don’t see why you must go to the aid of a girl who is of no significance to the North.”

There were nods of agreement and Sansa is quick to shut down his unsaid suggestion. “Shireen Baratheon is the only true heir to the Baratheon. If she dies, so does the family line. And even still, she is a child who has the threat of death hanging above her. I don’t need to remind you, my Lord, that up until a few months ago, I was in a similar position as she is.”

Sending him a frosty gaze, he looks contrite and bows in apology before sitting again. However, he does have a point, she admits internally, and expands on his words.

“Though I do agree that we are still unstable as a Kingdom to be riding off to fight against Lord Baratheon when there are bigger things ahead. The meeting between Stannis and I has been long over due, however. And so I will be riding to the Wall, leaving my sister, Princess Arya to be the Stark in Winterfell. This will only be temporary, as I hope to achieve a truce and return as soon as possible. Lord Royce will as be helping to run the keep whilst I am gone.”

She nods to said man who gives a low bow of confirmation. Once again she is relieved with how much trust there is between her and the Lord and how willing he was to stay by her side.

“I also hope to finally begin to move the Free folk pass the Wall and settle them into the Gift.”

There are grumbles of dissent which Sansa is quick to stamp out. “My Lords,” She begins firmly, “They are not the enemy here. After we’ve won, we will go back over the truce and hopefully they will be happy to move back to their lands. But until then, you don’t have to be friends with them, but politeness is all that I ask of you.”

Once the nobles have settled again, Sansa is quick to dismiss the meeting and begin to prepare for her journey. Cor peels away from the group, heading to Macel, most likely to discuss the up keep of training for their soldier. Alysane joins them just as they leave her view, Sansa heading into the main Castle.

She plans to take her She-wolves with her, but deciding to leave Beth, Jeyne, and Shae behind, as Beth would be beneficial for Arya whilst Sansa is gone and unable to keep up with the communication with the castle. Plus it would be good for the two girls of the same age to spend time together.

Shae and Jeyne had just arrived, and she doesn’t want to pull them away from a safe place as they are getting settled. Plus, Jeyne, now with her new duties as Steward, can’t leave.

Arya on the other hand, is not happy with being left behind. She comes storming into Sansa’s chambers as Shae and Lyn flutter around, preparing a small pack of clothes. Sansa doesn’t plan to take much as there was no time for finery during travel. Lyn though is adamant about packing at least one nice dress, so she can look the part when meeting Stannis. Sansa doesn’t bother arguing with the determined girl.

The door slams open, Lyn quickly spinning around reaching for her sword, but relaxing at the sight of Arya. Arya is fuming and her grey eyes are stormy as she begins to rage against Sansa’s decision.

“You _can’t_ leave me here and go see Jon _without_ me! _That isn’t fair!_ ” Her foot stomps, infuriated with her older sister’s decision.

Instinctively, Sansa can feel annoyance bubbling in her at the sight of her sister trying to argue with her. But she must keep calm, not rising to the bait no matter how much she wants to yell back at her.

“Arya Stark. You know _very well_ that _life isn’t fair_. I know you wish to see Jon, but circumstances are too serious for this to be just a family reunion.”

“ _But why can’t I come!?_ ” She complains, her angry voice taking on an almost whiny tone. Sansa is then reminded that her sister is only twelve, and still learning how to grow up, just as Sansa was at that age. Taking in a deep breath the calm herself, Sansa begins to explain as best as she can, making sure she doesn’t sound like she is talking down to her sister.

“ _Arya_. There must be a Stark in Winterfell. That isn’t just to stop possible rebellions from the other houses, but there is old magic involved. If you leave as well, the blood protection would fail.”

“What in the _seven hells_ are you talking about!?” Her sister exclaims.

This isn’t how Sansa wanted to tell her sister about the family magic, but she can’t change the past. So instead, she gets Arya to follow her down to the hot springs. Leaving her guards behind, the two enter the hidden door and descend the stairs. There is also the small part of her that has been nagging at Sansa to go back to the hot springs, so with this, it’s completing two tasks at once.

As they walk, Sansa begins to explain their family magic. The history of their family pertaining the Children of the Forest, the abilities gained through the mixing of the two bloodlines. Wargs, greensight, and the subtle but strong magic from the surrounding lands.

“We can draw magic from our lands, and it’s a very old magic, dating back to the beginning of our family. The reason there must always be a Stark in Winterfell is because a Stark sacrificed their life, bleeding into the very water that warms our home, so that there is protection against the Long Night. When all of us left, the magic began to fade, and it is what allowed the Boltons to take over our home.”

Foot steps echo the walls as Arya questions impatiently, “So, if the magic has faded, why do I have to stay?”

Unseen by her sister, Sansa rolls her eyes, continuing her explanation. “It hasn’t faded though, Arya. I bled for the castle and renewed the protection. The foundation was already there, so I didn’t have to die for it to work. The castle took my sacrifice and brought back the protection.”

For a moment it is silent but for their breathing and the sound of their shoes on the stone below them. And then she hears Arya question, baffled, “You talk as if the castle is alive.”

Turning her head back to meet her sister’s eyes, she whispers, “ _Oh but it is, Arya_.”

Reaching the heart of the castle, Sansa enters the warm cavern, the water’s glow casting a soft blue light around the room. Arya stares wide eyed as she steps up next to Sansa, taking in the sight before her.

Looking up at Sansa, Arya wonders, “But why don’t I feel it alive? _I’m a Stark too_.” ‘ _More than you._ ’ Was an unspoken sentence that Sansa knew her sister wanted to say, and it hurt that even now, ruling the North having taken it back from their enemies, that she still _isn’t_ Stark enough for her family.

Swallowing back her frustration, she begins to explain why. “Arya. When you became a Faceless man, your magic warped to suit that role. Stark magic isn’t able to do whatever you can do now. And, I can feel the way it’s changed.”

Wide eyed, she said in a hushed tone, “You can _feel_ my magic?”

Sansa nods. “I think it’s only because you are my sister, the same blood, that I’m able to sense it. I know I can’t with Lyn, Ellina, and Mya.”

“What about Cor?”

Sansa offers a shrug, “That’s different because there is a magic bond between us when he swore his oath as my Shield.”

Looking down contemplatively, Arya asks, “What does my magic feel like now?”

Closing her eyes, Sansa focuses on her sister’s magic and swallows back the bile that tries to rise in her throat. Keeping her voice as steady as she can, Sansa informs her, “Empty. A lack of personality. Like it’s waiting to become another person. There is a lingering of death and hollowness around your magic. Like smoke, waiting to take shape.”

“ _Oh_.” There was fear in the way she breathed out her reply, and Sansa sets a comforting hand on her arm.

“I don’t know what you want, whether it’s to keep the magic, or get rid of it to regain your Stark magic. But it’s up to you.”

Biting her lip, Arya nods, voice small as she hesitantly asks, “Can-can I have time to think about it?”

Giving a reassuring smile, Sansa says, “Of course, Arya. I get the feeling that whatever abilities you can do, they are helpful in some way.”

“Yeah, they are.”

“Well, you will have time to think about it as I’m heading to the Wall. But you’re blood will hopefully be enough to keep the protection up.”

Leaving her sister to think, Sansa turns to the pool of water she bled in and approaches it. Kneeling down at the side of the pool, she doesn’t know what she is doing but, maybe, she can figure out what the memories are trying to show her.

“Arya. Don’t freak out, okay?” Sansa says, beginning to untie her dress, letting it fall to her feet.

“ _What are you doing!?_ ” Arya exclaims, starting to freak out.

Quickly meeting her sister’s unsettled and bewildered gaze, Sansa firm states, “Trust me.”

She finishes stripping down to her shift and unlaces her corset so she can take deeper breaths. Closing her eyes, Sansa reaches out to the Castle, asking for it to guide her. The thrum of pleased and encouraging hopefulness tells Sansa that what she is about to do is what the Castle wants her to.

Taking a deep breath, she steps back and then takes a running leap into the water, the warm liquid quickly over taking her head. Opening her eyes, she twists her body around and begins to swim deep into the depths of the pool.

The blue lights thread through the rocks like veins, and as she gets deeper, closer to the bottom, they begin to pulse in time with her heart beat. The water starts to get warmer as well so she quickens her movements, knowing she is on a time limit of air. When finally, through the pulsing of the lights and quick arm strokes, she sees her goal.

A body, preserved by magic, lays on the floor of the pool. The white shift sways with the water around her, floating softly. Her hair mimics the movements and in the light, Sansa can see that the hair is a deep, blood red, differing Sansa’s more warm red colouring. Pale in death, the woman looks to be sleeping peacefully. At the centre of her chest, a dagger is buried deep within it.

Swimming closer, her face just a foot away from the woman’s, Sansa reached out, knowing exactly who this woman is. Her face is cold despite the warmth of the water, and cradled in her hands, Sansa watches, stunned, as the eyes of the dead woman crack open.

They glow blue, as bright as the light around them, and Sansa has to hold back the urge to gasp, not wanting to lose what precious air she has. Body floating, trying to stay as still as possible, Sansa watches with trepidation as the dead woman’s arms begin to move. Floating up just like her hair and dress, so that they can mirror the way Sansa has cupped her cheeks.

The cold skin is almost soothing in the heated waters, and for a brief second, everything goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! Another chapter! And the next one is already in the process so hopefully tomorrow I will post it.
> 
> Alright, so I think im being a little unfair to Arya’s character, but she is young, and more often than not, was able to get away with being a little brat around her family. The journey home did leave an impact, and we will see that more, but everything is so unfamiliar in her home so she doesn’t know how to react. All this new information she is getting and now the first family member she has seen in years is now leaving her. And also she isn’t the one to see Jon and finds that unfair, but hey, life isn’t fair. She will grow up, i promise. She just has to get used to the change in her life, and find her footing again. 
> 
> Also, we are finally about to see the origin story for the stark that died, and oooooooh boy am i excited for you to read. This idea just came from the fucking left field and hit me in the face during work, so I’m super jazzed to see how y’all react tomorrow when you read it! 
> 
> Until then, thank you for reading!


	26. The Forgotten Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life, the death, and the life of the sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! As promised! Hot off the press

She was born to a dying mother and a distant father. All she knew was her brother and his love for her. He would play with her, talk inventions and stories to her. Her whole world was her brother. He showed her his magic, of running in the body of wolves and birds. He talked of his dreams, of building castles that would last centuries. Suha was a cheerful girl, happy to run about and play with the other children in the village. Flowers falling out of her red hair, dirt staining her dress, there was never a moment where she _wasn’t_ covered in nature. Despite how much her father’s reputation scared many away, she never let it hinder her need to make friends, banishing away their trepidation with friendly smiles. She was happy with her childhood, days spent in the sunlight and exploring rivers.

However, as she aged, so did her brother, growing up and away from her. Her brother never had much time for her as he reached adulthood, focusing on his buildings and projects instead. She loved him dearly, but missed the way he would tell her stories and pretend to be monsters for her to slay. She would bother him and beg him for a story or two in the evening, but sitting at his desk, he wouldn’t look her way as he denied her requests.

At fourteen, he had argued that she was too old for such childish things, and should be focusing on the future. Mainly marriage. Suha didn’t want to be married, all the possible suitor too old for her in her opinion. Her brother though was adamant about making alliances. He was trying to start his own house, and Suha wanted to join him. And if she was to join him, she had to make a good marriage prospect.

Well, she wanted to make her own house as well, filled with happy children and brave women! Buther father had said that was unrealistic, and that doing your duty to honour your family was the best thing she could do for herself.

So instead of making her own noble house, she would follow her brother as he made his own. Following him as she always did when she was younger. He was so busy with making a large castle, surround by giant walls, that she found it so exciting and full of all sorts of adventure, to which she would spend days exploring and learning.

When she would start to spill tales of magic walls and talking castles from her lips, he would shut down her stories, claiming her childish. Suha had noticed that as the years went on, her brother got more and more serious, more fixed on the future instead of focusing on the present. But what he didn’t understand was that her stories _weren’t_ false!

She could _hear_ these voices, _feel_ the land, speaking to her. _Guiding her_. When telling her brother or father, they would say she was unable to do that. That she was a liar who just wished for the magic that they had.

‘ _You are a woman, Suha._ ’ Her brother had said, ‘ _Women can not hold magic, everyone knows that._ ’

She knew they were wrong, and that as she would lay in fields of flowers and tall grass, the winds would whisper to her, telling her stories. She would dream of a woman with red hair and blue eyes, weaving magic from the lands into her cloaks and voice. Suha knew that was to be her future. She could _See_ it, after all.

But still, as months would creep by, slowly, the children around her would leave or grow up, and she became ever so lonely. Instead of times spent out in the sun, playing in the forest, she would wander the newly built castle, trailing her fingertips across the stone work. Humming and dancing, she tried to find joy in her new home, despite the aloneness that creeped into her bones.

As she got older, knowing that marriage was to be her only future, she started to become scared. _Angry_. She’s _Seen_ her future. She _knows_ all these men she met were not the one that she is to marry. Their looks are similar, but they aren’t _him_! He is younger than them, _kinder_ and stronger than all of the other men.

As the war with the Night King begins to draw nearer, the colder weather creeping in like an unwelcome fog drifting over the hills, Suha begins to feel this dread in her heart, grasping it tightly. Like something is wrong with her, _within_ her. That she _shouldn’t_ be here, in these halls, as her brother starts a family. She feels like a ghost, becoming quieter, and empty shell of the joyful girl that she was before.

Suha stopped speaking, answering in hums or singing. When she is continuously pressured into marriages, she begins to _scream_ and cry, denying their supposed right to her _body_ and _life_. The madness that begins to over flow her mind and body ends up scaring them away anyways, and she is too distant from her surroundings to even feel joy at that.

She would whisper to herself that her true husband would come for her, would save her. But every night she would go to sleep hoping, and everyday she would wake up with that hope slowly dwindling like a dying fire in her chest.

Her brother secludes her into the bowels of the castle, hiding away his shameful younger sister from the world until she is _forgotten_. She lived in the caverns, watching and breathing with the pulses of blue light that beat in time with her heart. But when the war starts to advance it’s way to their home, Suha knows, deep in her very bones, that the future she _Sees_ for herself isn’t actually hers. _Another girl_ , in the future, will breech the heart of the castle, where Suha has made into her home, and there, the girl will sacrifice blood to protect her home.

‘ _Is that my future?!_ ’ Suha had screamed into the echoing caverns. ‘ _Am I to die for a family who has forgotten me!?_ ’

Suha wishes she could say that she was selfish enough to say that, ‘ _No, I will not die for them_.’

But deep in her heart, in her bones, her _blood_ , _her magic_. That _this_ is why she was born, why she has these visions of people that have not arrived into her life. _She was born to die._ She cried and screamed, raging against that knowledge, how _unfair_ it was that she couldn’t live and love like she _Dreamt_.

So, tears unable to stop and standing with a knife in her hand, in the shift she made for herself, she stabs straight into her heart and speaks, choking, blood dripping from her lips,

“ _My blood is offered willingly to the future of my family._

 _I sacrifice my life for theirs, and those that are to come._ ”

The First Language flows easily past her lips as her body becomes cold, vision beginning to blur. Shutting her eyes, Suha sinks into the warm embrace of the water, and lets darkness over take her.

But she doesn’t truly die.

It take awhile for her to awaken, to realise what has become of her. Though her body is dead, her magic and mind had burrowed _deep_ into the roots of the Castle and surrounding lands. She sees the lives of many, living and dying, experiencing life the way she was never able to. Her brother had children, and she watches them grow older, and then have their own children, who grow old as well. On and on she feels them run about her halls, their laughter and cries echoing through her walls.

In some ways, this was the best way for her to live. She was always close to the magic in the earth. The magic that not many were able to truly understand, feeling less like the other people around her who didn’t _understand_ the land as she did. However, what makes her heart ache, makes her weep and cry in anguish is how _easily_ she was _forgotten_.

Her brother, the founder of the Stark house, never speaks her name, grief taking hold. It’s like he realised how much he loved her, but _only too late._ His children grow up never knowing of her sacrifice, the sacrifice that _she made_ to save them. She _knows_ he knows what she did for his kingdom. _For their family_. But to see how blinded he is by his grief, so much so her can’t even whisper her _name_? She _howls_ and screams in the halls, haunting him as he sleeps, eats, and breaths under the roof that she made safe.

_Without her_ , Winterfell would’ve _crumbled_.

For centuries it stays safe, _stays strong, because of her_.

And then _She_ was born.

The father had ordered for the bells to be rung, but Suha kept ringing them long after the order was made. He had them ring for the hour after the birth, but Suha rang them from sunrise to sunset, joyous at the life that was brought into her walls. It was the girl from her _Dreams_ , she knows it deep in her roots.

From then on, Suha watched the girl grow, guiding her when Sansa was lost in the halls. Softly easing her to sleep with the bedtime stories had scared her to the point she was too afraid to shut her eyes. Suha began to love this girl, who she had _Seen_ when she was alive.

This girl, so like her in many ways, and Suha was over joyed that her _Visions_ had been true. That the sacrifice she made allowed her to see the girl that Suha thought was herself. The distance between her and her family had her aching in sympathy, crooning the child to sleep as she cried.

But the betrothal to the boy, was not who she _Saw_ Sansa being with. Was not the boy Suha _herself_ had started to fall for when she was alive, thinking him as her future love. She tried to reach out the Sansa, trying to steer her away, give her dreams to be warned of this boy.

Suha _Saw_ the pain in Sansa, when she returns, after leaving for some reason. It was a part of her _Visions_ she never truly understood, thinking that it was Suha herself who would be leaving and coming back in pain. But after her death, Suha understood that it wasn’t her but a descendant of her brother instead.

But all her warnings were for naught. It seems that slowly, the magic in the bloodline was _forgotten_ , and Sansa could not understand Suha like those in the far past could. She watched as Sansa forced herself to see the good in the boy when Suha can see the _sick madness dripping off of his soul_. Suha had to watch and cry, unable to move, as her girl left the safety of her walls.

Suha was despondent, mourning the loss of a girl who she loved, wishing and waiting for her return, dreading what must have become of her girl. But soon, the last of the Starks had fled, taking the protection she _died_ for with them, and then the false Kings came. The blood of the Red Kings, who dare to overthrow her family’s rule. She would’ve fought against them if her power wasn’t so weakened.

For months, she had men and women, tortured in her walls, the fear seeping into the cracks of the stone work. Suha weeped and moaned, the dark shadows of her halls creeping and writhing in her agony as the innocent and kind were tormented and killed in her walls. Her walls which were meant to be a _haven_ , a place of _safety_. She felt like the _madness_ from when she was alive was creeping back into her mind, _clawing_ at her sanity and in a fit of desperation to remain sane, she reached out to a girl.

The girl was a friend of Sansa’s, and was to be a prisoner of the monsters who took over her castle, her _body_. With quick magic, she guided the girl away from the men, reaching into the child’s mind and showed her where to hide. The girl, not knowing what was happening, had grasped that tendril of magic in a panic and _tugged_. Inadvertently, she forged a connection with Suha, and was able to _See_ everything that happened in the castle around her. Oh she didn’t hear nor understand the words Suha tried to speak to Beth, but that simple connection helped Suha stay sane, as well as keep the child, a dear friend of Sansa’s, _safe_.

_And then Sansa came back!_ She would’ve rung the bells again in joy if she didn’t feel so weak. And the _connection_! Sansa could _feel_ her, _understand_ her, in a way she never did before. Her magic was stronger, and Suha was crowing in delight at the return of the Stark magic.

She could feel the dreaded anticipation and clawing fear in Sansa as she walked her halls again. And when she killed the Torturer at their wedding, the man that had walked about the halls like they were his, she hissed in glee as his blood soaked her stones. And then the arrival of _Him_.

Suha felt the moment someone arrived, and not in the usual way through the gates. One moment the shadowed corner was empty, and then the next, a boy appeared. She felt his magic, his _soul_ , and _sighed_ , at ease that he has finally arrived.

‘ _I know you_.’ She thought, humming with tired joy. After so long, waiting and _waiting_ for him to arrive, he has _finally_ come.

She has known him, loved him, long before he was born. And now, she is able to meet him. Opening the doors for him, was a simple pleasure, welcoming him gladly into her halls. The way he killed the enemies with quick efficiency, and how softly he cared for Sansa. It was everything she had _Dreamed_ of.

He had reached for her, and she _reached_ back, and was happy to shove all the hall ways and secret passages into his mind, this time more careful than the more intrusive way she reached out to Beth. 

His fondness for her, giving her walls soft pats, or apologising when that sword that oozed death and magic and otherworldly abilities stabbed into her grounds. She would’ve let him _tear down her walls_ if it meant that he _stayed_ here forever.

She had sung when the traitors were taken into her depths, making sure the shadows and rats would claw and bite at them, avenging those that died, in the best way she could.

It took longer than she wished, but finally, _finally_. Sansa came into her heart, stepping lightly and _marvelling_ at her veins, as the pulse softly, _weakly_. Her magic, her sacrifice was fading and desperately, she grasped at Sansa’s body. Suha wasn’t happy with the way she controlled her girl, the fear she caused in her boy and their defenders. Crooning and moaning in apology after nearly drowning Sansa, Cor was dismissive of her guilt and remorse.

But she couldn’t feel _truly_ regretful with the way she was able to finally connect with Sansa! Though it was only partly done, Suha was too eager and scared Sansa. But her words and memories were with Sansa, so _finally_! She can be _remembered_. Can finally _hear_ her name spoken as it was when she was a child, centuries and centuries ago.

_But she never did._

Words were lodged in Sansa’s throat, and Suha can feel her frustration at being unable to speak of what she saw, what she felt. That connection they forged, when for a moment they were one, Sansa could not speak of it. Like a block was put on her mind, a _barrier_ stopping all speech of Suha from leaving her mouth.

She was furious. _Was there a curse put on her name!?_ Had her brother forsaken her so much, to the point that any word of her is _unspeakable_!?

Turns out, Sansa just didn’t truly understand the First Language. She could recite songs in the language, and thanks to Suha, could understand the words spoken, but that didn’t mean she truly _grasped_ the language. Settling back, relieved, Suha allowed Sansa to take control of her lands unhindered. Knowing that Sansa would come back to her again when she grew desperate for answers.

For now, she was content.

Warm hands touched her cheeks and Suha, if she could truly cry, she would. So long, _so long_. It’s been so long since soft touches and gentle holds. She hasn’t felt them since she was young. Reaching up to touch another, needing that skin contact, Suha cried with delirious joy at finally making the connection whole.

Holding her girl’s body close, Suha cradled the child to her chest, minding the dagger that sat permanently in her body. She knew that their time was short, that Sansa was living and needed to breath in a way that Suha has been unable to do, body forever drowned, gone from this world. But just for a second, she wants to feel the warmth of another’s body, to feel held and _cherished._ When the mild panic began to take over Sansa’s mind, Suha groaning in anguish, slowly relinquished her hold, gently moving the water to push Sansa back to the surface.

In her body, in a way she thought she lost, Suha watched from her own eyes once more, as Sansa continued to keep her eyes on Suha, the blue eyes bright and sad. Sansa floated away, but didn’t _look_ away until the black depths faded from her view. And only then, did Suha close her eyes and Sansa resurface.

Fully submerging her mind back into her castle, Suha waited hopeful and _agonising_ and _almost breathless_ if she had lungs again.

Sansa swims out of the waters, her sister, the one who has had her magic warped and hollowed out, helps her out of the pool. There is panic in the child’s voice, but all that she can hear is the words leaving Sansa’s mouth.

“ _Suha_.”

She cries, euphoric, and unwillingly, her heartbeat pulses bright and fast. Her name. _Her Name!_ So long, so distant, she thought she would never hear her name again, spoken from the lips of someone who _loves_ her.

“ _Suha! I remember you._ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suha- Arabic- forgotten, overlooked. Name of a star in the constellation Ursa Major
> 
> My dudes, I was so stoked writing this and god, am i proud of it. I think the tenses are all over the place, but I tried. Hope you like it! until next time


	27. Of Purpose and Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa struggles with understanding Cor’s anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of Cor’s shitty childhood, i.e, drowing

Cor was in the middle of a conversation with Macel and Alysane when he felt the loss of connection with Sansa.

“-and we can start to incorporate the women into basic strategy manoeuvre, but not physical training because they have’t reached the same level yet.” Cor instructed Macel, and Alysane nodded along.

“In the weeks they’ve been training, they’ve improved a vast amount.” The woman murmured, looking down at a scroll and making quick notes. As she goes to open her mouth to continue to talk, a tight grip of fear clenches in his gut.

Freezing, he tries to reach out to Sansa, seeing if she is in danger. But it’s like reaching for a rope and only grabbing air. Panicking, he immediately turns and sprints off, a sense of dread filling his body. He knows exactly where she is, if she is still alive.

When she was possessed by the castle, this same sensation had overwhelmed him, and there wasn’t anything he could do but feel her shock and fear, before being able to dive into save her. Now, he can’t even _feel_ her emotions. There is a blank space where she should be, and he quickens his pace, dashing past servants and down the stairs.

The castle isn’t whispering words of encouragement or reassurance. He hears nothing from the castle and his heart is in his throat, adrenaline and fear rushing through his blood. As he reaches the hallway leading to the cavern, the castle suddenly sings with euphoria and his connection with Sansa comes rushing back.

Coming to a stop at the door way, he takes in Sansa, wet and alive. Arya has her arms around her, trying to demand answer, which Cor would like to know as well. Breathing heavily, he steps into the room, and Arya turns at the sound of his footsteps. In her grey eyes is confusion and a desperate need for knowing what the _hell_ was going on.

Stopping just above them, Sansa looks up and the look of pure awe and wonder on her face as a surge of anger running through him. She begins to babble but Cor is too busy pushing down his rage to listen to her.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and cuts Sansa off.

“-I saw her and learnt about how she was-“

“Princess. _Leave us._ ”

Both girls focus on him, and Arya looks uneasy, not willing to leave her sister’s side with a person who is obviously displeased. He watches her shift every so slightly so that she is kneeling in front of Sansa, putting herself in between her sister and a threat. Cor would be impressed with her courage if he wasn’t so _fucking pissed off_.

Luckily, Beth comes to the rescue, more than likely seeing what was happening and had come to help. Walking hesitantly into the room, Beth quietly begins to pull Arya out of the room, murmuring words of reassurance. The girl would be keeping an eye on them anyways, Cor was sure of it. But for once, the loyalty of Sansa’s friends and family was annoying. He didn’t want people listening into their private conversation.

In the silence around them, Cor stares Sansa down, who slowly begins to pick herself up. Normally he would be ready to help her, but he is too infuriated to even bother with niceties. She peers up at him, an assessing look, though their is an uncertainty in them as well.

“You’re angry.” Sansa states.

The fury wells up in him and he can’t hold back the coldness in his voice. “ _Well done_ for noticing.”

“Cor-“ She tries to reach out for him, but he just jerks away from her reach. Pain crosses her expression but he barely even cares right now.

“Do you have any idea how hard you are making my job?” Deathly quiet, he asks her.

Frown marring her face, “ _Excuse me?_ ” She retorts, indignant. Her hand curls back and fists at her side. Unknowingly, he mirrors it her action

He tries to keep his voice as calm as he can, but the rage just keeps slipping out. “I’m your guard, your _Shield_. And can’t allow you to keep putting yourself into dangerous situations, especially when _I’m not there_.” He draws himself up, and she steps back, her body tense with her own anger.

“‘ _Allow me’_?!” She hisses at him, “What _right_ do you have to control my actions!?” Her voice rises in anger, and his hackles are up.

Spitting back, “I have a _right_ when _I_ have to be the one to _protect you!_ ”

She throws her hands up in the air, frustrated. “I was fine! I had Arya with me and the castle _wouldn’t_ have hurt me!”

“ _You don’t know that!_ ” Yelling back, he takes a step forward. Instead of her backing down, she steps right up into his face, and meets his anger with her own

“How _dare_ you tell me what I do and do not know! I am your _queen_ , and you have _no power_ to dictate what I can or can’t do.” The frigid coldness in her voice has pain clenching at his heart, and it’s like all the air has left his lungs.After Cor had agreed to be her Shield, they talked about the power balance in their friendship, and she promised to never hold her title over him. Pursing his lips together, to stop them trembling, he steps back, trying to regain his breathing. 

The anger in him snuffs out, and instead a hollowness replaces it. Keeping his face and voice blank, trying to hide how hurt he feels, Cor gives her a low bow, fit for his station and intones, “My apologise, _Your Majesty._ By your leave.” He falls into a parade rest, and stares at the wall past her head. His mind feels so distant despite being hyper-focused on the way there is a small intake of breath from Sansa. But she doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“You’re dismissed.” Sansa whispers quietly, and it sounds so small, so guilty, that Cor almost concedes. _Almost_ allows himself to surrender to her side of the situation, but he knows that he is right. It’s his job to protect her, and if she keeps throwing herself into water, _how the hell is he supposed to follow!?_

Bowing again, he twists on his heel and marches out. On the way back up, he passes Arya and Beth. The sister, barely looks at him, just rushes past to see Sansa. Beth however pauses to give him a reassuring pat before following after.

Never has he ever felt so _alone_.

He is glad that Sansa has all these friends to turn to, and at times he believes that they are his friends too. But he knows, at the end of the day, they will _always_ choose her.

Keeping his head high, trying to look like everything is okay when everything _isn’t_ , he marches himself to the rookery. He found a nook on one of the windowsills, and had gone to it when he needed some peace and quiet. It was a good place to think. And a good place to cry without anyone seeing his break down, but for the ravens fluttering around him.

Curling up on the ledge, he leans back on one of the walls and looks out over the expanse of land. He _knew_ coming here would be a cultural shock. He _knew_ things were so different from home, but sometimes. _Sometimes_ , he wished to go back. Back to the _familiarity_. Back to sparring with Gil and talking with the townspeople near the Tempering Grounds. Sometimes he even wished to be back under Regis, because at the very least if the king throws himself into water, it was Clarus’ job to pull him out, not Cor’s. He missed the hesitant friends that he had made with some of the other soldiers. He missed the food, the warmer weather, and the fucking _toilets_! Gods does he hate the plumbing here, and can not wait to incorporate it.

But everything just is getting _too much._

He loves Sansa, _so much_. But even though he finds her an amazing ruler, she is still a _child_ , like him. They may have world experiences and their abuse has helped them realise the reality of the world, but _gods_ are they too young to be in charge. The weight of the people’s expectancy and opinion is a heavy one, and sometimes it feels like he will collapse under it at any moment.

Before, when things were too much, there were other soldiers to talk to, those to understand and commiserate with. But here, it felt like he had no one. If he talked to any of the She-wolfs, he knows it would be told to Sansa. Not out of malicious intent, but because that was their fucking job!

Cor barely notices that he is sobbing hard in his arms, head tucked on his knees. _What he wouldn’t give for a friend._

A shuffle of footsteps has him whipping around, hand on his sword, before recognising the faces at the entrance of the rookery. Luka and Theon.

Luka stands more surely than Theon, who is slightly ducked behind the other boy. It would be amusing, with Theon being eighteen and Luka being sixteen, but it’s understandable. Theon has gone through hell, and of course authority figures still unnerve him, scared of what they could do the the man.

“Want to talk about it?” Luka murmurs. And Cor, realising his face is wet, he quickly begins to wipe the tears away with his sleeve, standing up from the ledge.

He looks away, ashamed. “I’m fine.”

Luka steps more into the room, bluntly stating, “You’re _really not_ , Cor.”

Letting out and aggravated sigh, he mutters, bitterly, “Even if I told you, you would just go back to report to Sansa.”

Luka stills. “Is her life in danger?”

Cor has to snort, a self-deprecating sound. “ _Apparently_ , I’m not _allowed_ to decide that for her.”

“We won’t tell her.” Theon finally speaks. “We won’t tell her if there is no danger involved.”

Cor softens at the man’s quiet words, and then slumps to the floor. Leaning his head back on the windowsill, he watches as Luka and Theon come forward and sit either side of him.

“I have a fear of water.” He says, soft and unsure. “When you’re forcibly, nearly drowned, by your own father, it becomes hard to not fear it.” There is a heavy silence that trails the end of his equally heavy words.

He hears Luka on his left take a breath and breathes out, “Valid.”

Continuing on, “And twice, Sansa has been in water. The first, the fucking castle _possessed_ her and she nearly _drowned_.”

“... _what?_ ” Theon whispers, bewildered.

Cor plows on over his confusion, ignoring the weird looks from both of them. “And the second time was today. I have no fucking clue on why she did it, but _once again_ , she went into water and this time I wasn’t anywhere near her.”

Luka makes an ‘ _ah_ ’ sound. “Is that why you suddenly took off?”

Cor nods. He really wished he had some alcohol right now. “Yeah. So you know the whole magic thing?” Cor makes a few nonsensical hand gestures, looking at Luka for confirmation.

Giving a slow nod, he responds, “In the general capacity, yes.”

Trying to explain the best of his ability, hands still gesturing, “So Sansa and I have a bond, in that when she is in danger, or of extreme emotions, I can feel it and know where she is. It’s so that I can get to her quickly if she is in trouble.”

“Handy.” Theon mutters to his right.

“Well today, I felt that bond disappear. Just. _Gone_. And I lost my shit.”

Both sat up, a bit more alert. “Is she okay?” Luka asks, alarmed.

Cor waves away their concerns, his voice starting to take a more hysterical edge. “Oh she’s _fine_! Just, took a _fucking swim_ into the hot springs and _communed_ with the castle! _No big fucking deal!_ Why should _I_ be concerned when the _last time_ she went in there, she nearly _drowned_! And I had to go in there, and having a panic attack myself because, ‘ _hey I’m afraid of water and fear drowning’._ But when I tell her that she needs to be more careful or at least let me know when she is going to do something dangerous, and that I would at least like to be there, she pulls the ‘ _I’m queen and you can’t control me card_ ’, and _I’m_ the bad guy! _Never mind_ the fact that we _literally_ kissed and are in love with one another. I’m _so sorry_ for being fucking concerned!” He is panting heavily by the end of it and curses inwardly at how his eyes start tearing up again.

“...you kissed?” Theon hesitantly asked, prodding for more information.

Scrubbing at his eyes, Cor snaps, “Not the _fucking_ point, Theon.”

The older boy wilts back, “ _Sorry_.” And Cor feels terrible at how small he sounds. Closing his eyes and sighing, he pats Theon’s arm gently, reassuring him that Cor isn’t mad. They sit in silence, the ravens rustling around their heads.

“So, you’re scared?”

“Huh?” Snapping out of his thoughts, Cor turns to Luka.

His brows are furrowed, contemplating his words. “You’re scared _for_ her.”

Looking down at his hands, Cor begins to pick at the skin around one of his nails. Admitting a weakness isn’t something he likes to do but...“Yeah.” His throat feels dry. “I am.”

“Did you tell _her_ that?”

Stuttering, Cor response, “Well- _no_. I guess not really. But-we’ve always been good at reading one another. And I _thought_ with the connection between us, she could tell how absolutely terrified I am of loosing her. Or not being there quick enough.”

With a heavy sigh, he runs his hand through his hair, and shrugs, “Not like it would really matter. If she dies, I die.”

A hand lands on his shoulder and turning to Luka, the other boy looks at him with worry. “Wait so. You would _kill yourself_ if you fail to keep her alive?”

Shaking his head, “No. I _literally_ die if she does. It’s the Oath I made and the magic tied to it. She dies I die. I die, she lives.”

“ _Seems unfair._ ” Theon murmurs, hands picking at his pants.

Cracking a humourless smile, Cor responds sadly, “You give your life to keep them alive. That’s the ultimate role of the Shield.”

Luka narrows his eyes and wonders, “How old _are_ you?”

Scratching at his neck, Cor thinks for a second. “Uh- probably sixteen now.”

Theon sits up, shocked, “ _Wait! You’re younger than me!?_ ” Cor stares baffled, both at the question and at how suddenly animated the older boy finally is, looking more alive than Cor has ever seen him.

Blinking bewildered, Cor gives a quirked, awkward, smile, “How old did you _think_ I was?”

The older by shrugs, sheepishly, “I dunno. Like, twenty?”

Cor snorts.

Luka though looks less amused and says slowly, eyeing him. “Cor. You’re _really_ young.”

Said boy rolls his eyes, “We’re the same age, idiot.”

“That’s what I _mean_!” Luka exclaims, gesturing wildly, “ _We’re all really young!_ ”

“ _Why are we in charge of anything?_ ” Theon asks mystified, looking into the distance.

“Yeah, who the _fuck_ decided that?” The other boy mused, nodding along with Theon.

Letting out a breathy laugh, Cor replies, “Sansa. Our _fourteen_ year old queen.” He rubs at his temples, regrettably amused at where the conversation has gone.

“ _Seven hells._ ” Theon whispers, horrified. “The kingdom is run by _children_.”

But it helped, them joking back and forth with how their queen is a child, their commander is a child. Hell, a lot of the people in charge are young as well. ‘ _A brave new world._ ’ Cor mused internally, but he still felt worried. They were pretty inexperienced when it came to being in command, so it’s wild that this is even being allowed. ‘ _Age restriction defiantly needs to be applied.’_

Cor felt more relaxed when their laughter and joking had died down. Relaxed enough to tell them what the real root of the problem was.

“I’m _lonely_.” He whispers, confesses. “I miss my _home_.” Biting his lip, he looks down to his lap, trying to hide the stupid tears that started to build again. A comforting arm wraps around his shoulders, and Cor is pulled into Luka’s body.

Murmuring softly, “We can’t do much about your home, but, _I_ at least thought we were your friends.”

He stutters an inhale and looks wide eyed at the boy. “ _We’re friends?_ ” He sounds so unsure in his ears, so sad and desperate. Cor would be angry with himself at showing such weakness, but right now, his body feels so _heavy_ with exhaustion, his chest aching for companionship. Friends was always a foreign concept, even when travelling briefly with Regis and his retinue. He was always too young, too new, too _serious_.

To hear that someone voluntarily wanted to be around him, and not just forced into it by _circumstance_? Cor could only stare wide eyed with disbelief, a small spark of hope building in his chest.

Theon huffed next to him and reached up, ruffling Cor’s hair, which has gotten down to his ears and really needed a cut. “Yes, you dickhead. We’re friends.”

Cor marvelled at the sudden personality that was showing through the guarded and scared walls the older boy had put up. Sure, Cor could still see the fragile mental state he had, and how twitchy and nervous he still got around other people. But it seemed he had started to come out of his shell around Cor and Luka.

Cor could feel a smile cracking across his lips, and the joy that began to overwhelm him caused the tears to finally escape. _Again_.

Sobbing hard into Luka’s shoulder, the other boy just held him close, offering nonsensical sounds of comfort. Theon reached out and offered his hand, to which Cor held onto it like a life line.

“I’ve _never_ had friends.” Cor cried through his tears and left the other two hold onto him tighter at his admission.

It takes sometime for him to calm back down, to which Theon jokes, “No one will ever believe the Ghost Commander cries like a babe.”

Luka just reaches over Cor’s head and smacks Theon lightly, who takes it with good fun. Cor huffs a wet laugh and wipes his face roughly with his cloak.

“Keeping speaking like that and you won’t be one of my second in command.”

Both stare shocked at him, and Cor cracks up at their stunned faces, looking like fish. Luka shoves him into Theon, who shoves him back. They end up in a tussle, wrestling on the straw covered rookery floor, breathless with laughter and exertion. Cor of course wins, though Theon is second.

Panting on the floor, they lay back, looking up at the nests above.

“But seriously.” Cor begins, “Luka, you’re second in commander for the infantry, and Theon, you lead the archers. They technically fall under me, but because I don’t know shit about archery, and you are the best we have, I want you to be in charge of them. So I guess both of you are my seconds.” Cor decides firmly, looking to each boy as he speaks

Luka sits up a little, leaning on his arm and looking down at Cor, “But-I- I’ve _never fought before!_ Not really! I’m just a _guard_.”

Hand coming up, Cor pats the other boy’s cheek a couple of times in an amusing gesture of reassurance. “Luka. You are excellent with the sword, and absolutely _terrifying_ with a spear. Plus, I _trust_ you. I can get advice from anyone. But trust is hard earned.” The boy smiles back down at him, looking pleased and and embarrassed at once.

“And _me_.” The whisper from Theon had the other two turning to him. He was still looking up at the ceiling, and was worrying his lip to a concerning degree. By Cor’s side, he can feel the way Theon is clenching his fist, so he eases it lose and slips his own hand into Theon’s.

Cor frowns, confused at the way the boy looks so lost and so sacred, and tries to reassure him, “Theon, you know the lands of the North better than _either_ of us. And I already said you are our best archer. _Of course_ you’re my second.” Trying to give a reassuring smile, Theon just shakes his head.

Stumbling over his words, “No- I-I Mean, thank you. But. You _trust_ me?” He turns green eyes to Cor, and the fragile look in them has Cor’s heart clenching in sympathy.

Squeezing his hand in comfort, Cor responds seriously. “Theon, you followed me in the freeing of Winterfell. Even when you couldn’t trust me or know who I was. If I didn’t have a minute trust in you then, we wouldn’t be here now.”

Theon gives a hesitant smile back.

By the time they leave, Cor feels calmer, more centred since arriving in Westeros. The knowledge that he has _friends_ , who would offer their ear and shoulder if Cor needed it, was almost freeing. He understands that if anything he says could be a danger to Sansa, they would tell her, but everything else, they would keep a secret. He was feeling lighter, like that previous weight had lifted a bit.

But there was still a conversation he needed to have with Sansa. After helping each other pick straw out of their hair and off their clothes, the three left the tower and went their separate ways. It was most likely dinner time, with how low the sun was, so Cor sped to the kitchens to get a roll of bread and some meat.

He eats on the move, running into Lady Alysane, to which he apologises for his abrupt departure from their discussion, explaining he remembered an urgent task which had to be done. She was fairly amendable, only asking if they could finish the conversation before he leaves tomorrow. Promising to discuss in the morning, Cor continues on his way.

It’s when he arrives at the door, Cor hesitates, fist raised to knock. Behind the door, he could hear muffled conversation, but he isn’t exactly eager to interrupt. Just as he goes to leave, figuring a night in the barracks wouldn’t do any harm, the door creaks open.

Standing before him is Beth, who gives him a knowing look to old for such a young girl. Behind her, Cor spots the She-wolves, Arya, Jeyne, and Shae. They are all spread about the room, and at the back, by the bedroom door, is Sansa. They all turn as one to look at him, and a jolt of fear runs through his body at the unhappy looks and glares he is getting.

Feeling vulnerable in the face of female hostility, Cor goes to back away. “Apologies, your Majesty.” He bows, and turns. But Sansa calls out, voice almost desperate, “ _Wait_!”

Stopping in his tracks, he turns back around. She had moved in the seconds he looked away, and now she stood closer to him, in the middle of the room. He waits for her next command, falling into a parade rest. The formality he is showing her must unnerve the girl, because her voice stays shaken as she dismisses all of the ladies.

One by one they leave, Mya last and giving him a warning look. For a moment he is frustrated with how they don’t seem to be willing to hear his side of the story, which is _exactly_ why he would never go to them for help.

Once stepping into the room, door closing behind him, they are left in alone in silence. The fire place cracks, and Cor stifles the urge to shift. He’s been on guard duty many times, he knows how to stay in position even if nerves get to him. This should be no different, but the heaviness in the air has him anxious.

Sansa takes a deep breath, and he watches draw her shoulders back and said with a more steady voice, “I’m sorry, Cor. I shouldn’t have used my position over you.”

“Thank you for your apology.” He says, curtly.

For a second she is lost, not knowing what to say in the face of his obvious dismissal of her apology, before opening her mouth to speak, “ _Cor_ I-“

But he cuts her off, trying to get her to understand the root of the problem. “Do you _understand_ why I was angry?”

She hesitates over his blank tone, then asks slowly, “Because I did something without your knowledge?”

Tilting his head to the side, he concedes, “That’s _part_ of it.” When she seems to be struggling with an answer, Cor sighs and tells her. “Sansa. My job is to keep you _safe_ , and putting yourself into situations that could potentially be dangerous without me their to protect you, makes it difficult to do my job.”

Her lips turn down, voice bitter as she scoffs, “If it’s so difficult why did you even bother?” There is hurt though, under the bravado, and Cor has to remind himself that she is just lashing out in confusion and possible fear.

Closing his eyes, he allows himself a second to calm the frustration and anger that tries to rear up and lash out. He did that last time and look where they are at now. This time, he needs to explain fully because she needs to understand.

“ _Because I had no purpose in life._ ” Cor bluntly says, looking away and into the fire. He lets his words out, this time not holding back what he has been keeping locked away for years. “I’ve _never_ had a true purpose in life. With my father, _all I knew_ was fear and confusion. All I _thought_ was that this was my _purpose_ , to _remind_ my father of all that he lost because of his own mistakes. When he died, I had _nothing_. When I joined the military, I once again found a purpose. But I lost that as well. Some people in the world don’t _need_ a purpose in life to live it. They live day by day, happy with whatever they have. Content with everything around them. _But I can’t do that_. Without a purpose, I’m _nothing_. I was never _able_ to build up dreams as a child. Or make friends. Wasn’t _encouraged_ to make decisions for myself. I _barely_ have a personality or hobby. All I am is a soldier, a _fighter_.”

Looking away from the fire and back to her, he sees who bright her blue eyes are, her expression looking crushed and sad. Meeting that gaze, he continues. “I serve you because I _want_ to. But I also serve you because I _need_ a purpose to live. And _you_ are that purpose. And I’m sorry that I”m putting this pressure on you, making you into something that _I_ need. Making you feel _responsible_ for me and my needs. Other men have done that to you. Making you this _toy_ to play with, or this princess in the castle that _needs_ saving. I’m so _fucking_ sorry for being like them, Sansa. You deserve someone who doesn’t rely on you for their mental well-being.”

Sansa tries to step forward after that but he hods up a hand, stopping he in her tracks. He wasn’t done yet, heart beating pounding with all that is coming out. Rubbing a hand over his face, Cor lets the exhaustion he constantly feels slip into his tone.

“I’m, _severely_ fucked up, Sansa. I _lack_ the social skills children get when they are young and around others their age. I _never_ was able to develop those skills. The only times I’m confident in my abilities are the ones I gained from training and as a soldier. After that, I’ve got _nothing_.”

Looking down at his hands, and seeing the way they faintly tremble, he clenches them tightly, feeling the way his short nails dig into the skin. “I was _scared_ , Sansa. I was scared _for you_ , thinking you would almost drown again. The last time, I had a _panic attack_ going into the water to save you. I’m scared because when it comes to water, I fail. I would walk through hell with you, _for you_ , Sansa. But I know that if you go into water, I will struggle against my own fear to do my job, risking your life.”

Looking back up, his desperation seeps out with his tiredness. “So when you put yourself, in a situation I know I will _fail_ to save you, I’m _scared_.” He gives a self-deprecating laugh, more of a huff of breath.

“But it’s all _pointless_ to feel this way because if you die, _I_ will die, so I won’t need to find another purpose anyways.”

He knows he should feel worried with how borderline suicidal he sounds, but it’s the truth. If she dies, he is fine to die with her, because then he wouldn’t have to search again and mostly fail that purpose as well. He is too tried to try once more. And he hates that he feels this way, feels this olde despite how young he is.

He knows what being a child soldier entails, but _gods_ does it suck.

Seeing how Sansa is hugging herself, as if offering comfort from the sad truths he speaks, Cor softens. “I’m not _trying_ to make you feel bad. I just want you to understand how important you are to me. Fuck Sansa, _I love you so much_. But I would also not like to be put in that situation again. Did you know that our connection, just for a short period, _disappeared_? I thought you _died_.” Ending in a whisper, he watches how her red-rimmed eyes widen at his words. She didn’t know, and a small part of him relaxes in relief. That she didn’t _willingly_ hide their connection. That it was just a side-effect of when she talked with the castle.

Finally, he came to an end of his speech, throat dry and voice hoarse, “Sansa I left my _home_ to come here. To be by _your side_. And I really want you to offer me the curtesy of _at least listening to me_ when it comes to your safety. It’s my _duty_.”

‘ _My duty will always be loving you_.’ He had said, _confessed_ , in these very rooms. She seems to understand what he is trying to tell her because she bursts into tears and throws her arms around him.

This time he welcomes the hug, clinging tightly to her body as once again, for like the third or fourth time today, he starts to cry. Though it’s less of the body shaking sobs Sansa releases into his neck, and more of the silent ones.

She is murmuring repeatedly, voice wet, her apologies. ‘ _Sorry_.’ Over and over, this time truly understanding what she is apologising for. Stroking his hand up and down her back in comfort, he holds her through it all.

He had dumped a lot of baggage on her, but it all needed to be said. They had to clear up the miscommunication, and unfortunately it came with all his shit and insecurities that she didn’t know yet.

“I’m _so used_ to doing everything on my own.” Sansa whispers, and Cor stays holding her, allowing Sansa to have her say now.

“I was _always_ the odd one out of the family. _Too Tully,_ not _Stark enough_. _Too Southern_. I was the _least_ Stark of the family because of my _looks_ , or my lady like behaviour. I _craved_ people’s attention, wanted them to have a good opinion of me. But it seemed no matter how well I behaved, it was never _good enough_. Arya was able to make a mess and was barely punished. Bran could have dreams of being a southern knight but I was mocked for wanting to marry a kind and handsome lord! I was never enough for them despite them putting so much pressure on me to _be_ good enough.”

A surge of annoyance had welled in him. To know that a _child_ , just a _little girl_ , felt so alone with a family that was meant to love her? To feel so much pressure at a young age to be perfect? He heard tales about how loving the Starks were, but it was almost telling with how much there was actually wrong with the family if Sansa felt so _distant_ from them.

Sniffling, her tears having died down, she pulls away enough for him to see her face, his hand coming up to cup it gently. “I love them. I _miss_ them. But I’m not _enough_ for the North. I’m a _woman_ and I will _always_ be in my brother and father’s shadow. They want me to be honourable like my father, but the Starks were _never_ about honour. I want to be brave like my brother, going into battles, but that never saved him when he married the wrong woman! He tossed aside the North, tossed aside his family, leaving me with the Lannisters when he was meant to save me. He gave it all up for a woman. For love. _And I can understand that!_ I _want_ to marry for love as well. But I wouldn’t if it costed my family their _lives_ because _unlike_ my siblings, I took to heart the _duty_ I had to them.”

“I didn’t _truly_ wish to marry Joffrey.” She whispered, as if guilty. “ _Of course_ I tried to see the good in him. _Of course_ I tried to be dutiful. That was what I was _taught_. I didn’t know he was going to be a _monster_. But I would’ve married him anyways because that is how girls are raised. To stay quiet, to smile, and to do their duty for their family.” It all came out in a rush, the anger and confusion. The unfairness of the situation in which she lived in. He could feel her body trembling with all the overflowing emotions.

Closing her eyes, she leans into his palm. “I guess I need to learn to rely on you more. To tell you what is happening instead of keeping it all in.” Softly spoken, as if afraid of speaking the words out loud, she peers back up at him, awaiting his reply.

Cor gives a gently smile and presses his lips to her forehead.

“That’s all I ask, Sansa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof this was a long one. 9 fucking pages on my word doc. 
> 
> Okay so, they both have severe dependency issues, or at the very least, Cor does. Neither are the bad guy here, there was just a huge misunderstanding that they managed to work through. Their relationship is a hard one, and Cor is still trying to adjust to a new life. Y’all thought this boy was a-okay? Nah nah nah mate. He is just repressing, which led to this shit storm.  
> But on the other hand, Theon and Luka to the rescue! Yay! Also don’t think that I”m hating on the girls for being mean to him. If your friend comes to you upset because her bf was mean, even if it was kinda valid, you would be shitty to him. Thinks will be sorted out, but hey! This is a kingdom with teens in charge. Emotions and hormones will be all over the fucking place.  
> Also, Boys! Being! Affectionate! Without! Romance! Or! Sex! Let boys be soft with their friends!
> 
> (Also i sorta started to ship Luka and Cor. Whoops)
> 
> Until next time! Thank you for reading


	28. Meeting of Monarchs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa meets Stannis, and Jon and Sansa talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to my beta, snickerdoodle143! Thank you for your editing! 😘

The next day dawned with the usual overcast skies that Sansa found typical for the North. Gathered in the courtyard with bags strapped to their horses, Sansa and her party begin their farewells. With her were Lyn, Ellina, Cor, and a couple of Lord Royce’s best men- aside from Luka and Macel. According to Cor, they needed to stay behind to keep up with the soldier's training. Sansa wanted to bring Mya as well, but as Stannis would be at the Wall as well, Sansa had no interest in offending the man by bringing along his brother's bastard.

Wrapping her friends in a hug, she promises them that she will be safe and hurry back. When she huddles Arya to her chest, she holds her sister for a little longer, not wanting to part from the first family member she’s seen in years. Discretely wiping away a tear, they move away from one another, and Sansa mounts her steed.

As she does so, the rest of her travelling companions follow her lead. Suha's mournful cries as the castle feels Sansa's absence, makes her think twice about their journey. She does not want to leave her home again. But she steels herself.

Sansa looks down to Arya and says gravely, “Winterfell is yours until I return.”

Her sister matches her strength and gives a short bow in return. Sansa wheel her horse around and starts him into a trot. As she weaves her way through the buildings and roads inside of Winterfell, she nods and smiles to all her people.

After passing through the keep's gate, Sansa looks over to Cor, who looks distinctly uncomfortable on his horse. Pulling up next to him she asks, “Never ridden before?”

He grunts in annoyance, body overly stiff in the saddle. “Oh, I have. But not horses. We have a different animal entirely that we ride.”

“Really?” She tilts her head to the side, curious about his world.

Nodding, he fidgets once more in his seat, before finally relaxing marginally, having found the rhythm to riding.“Yeah. Giant two legged birds.” 

She blinks bewildered, trying to imagine what he was describing, but he interrupts her thoughts. “Shall we speed up?”

Looking over at the rest of her guards, and noticing how the entire group is far enough away from walking smallfolk, she nods, and nudges her horse forward.

Last night, after Cor and her had settled their problems, they had crawled into bed and Sansa listened to him speak of his world for hours. They never really had a chance to do so in the past, only discussing political and societal differences when it came to Westeros. They never talked about the mundane. Governing her kingdom came first, so they were forced to put casual matters aside. So, last night, entranced, Sansa listened to him weave words into his descriptions of his world:

The towering glass buildings; The strange carriages that ran without horses; The advanced technology. The one thing that he really seemed to miss was the plumbing of his world, even going so far as to summon one of his books and show her diagrams. Intrigued, Sansa started to make a small plans in her head for after winning the war.

Sansa had vowed to herself that she would rely more on him. She was so confused at his anger, furious at the thought that he was demanding control over her. But upon his explanation- when he dismissed her first apology because she didn’t understand what the true problem was- she started to understand just how injured he was in his mind- his soul. The dependancy he had, desperately needing some kind of support, a _purpose_ , in his life was jarring. She had never known how deep his wounds had run, but now she promised to let him do his job.

And in a way, it was good for her too. Since she was a child- overlooked despite being the perfect daughter, and then having no one to trust for the last three years- Sansa started to believe that there wasn’t anyone she could fully rely on. With her friends, she could go to them to talk and to have a fun time, but even then she omitted many of her issues. With Cor, he knew more about her than anyone, but still, she didn’t even think to tell him about the dreams she was having of Suha.

Was she so used to depending on herself for her own well-being, it was almost foreign to rely on another?

Oh, she trusted him to defend her from those that tried to harm her, but aside from that, she didn’t think his duty as her Shield expanded into other parts of her life. But, for her own sake of mind, and his, she would open up more about her ideas and thoughts, instead of keeping things close to her chest as she had taught herself.

It would take them a couple of weeks, maybe a little over one week of hard riding, to reach the wall. With the lack of a carriage, the journey would be faster, as well as the decision of camping as they go instead of trying to find an inn to stay in. The only plan they had for an inn was when they would reach Mole’s town. That would allow Sansa to clean up and prepare herself to meet Stannis. She wanted to look as presentable as possible.

The journey went well. Sansa and her ladies shared a tent, while Cor and the other three men shared another. They had guard shifts, which included Lyn and Ellina, who later on in the morning murmured good natured complaints. Cor seemed to have a good rapport with the other men, and Sansa was suddenly very aware of how much they respected her Shield.

She knew they followed his orders, as she had watched him train her soldiers from time to time, but to see the relationship between them up close was astonishing: the way they answered his orders so easily; the way Cor drew their attention to him when he spoke, the respect they held for him and his leadership. It made pride swell up in her chest. He doesn’t seem to notice it, though, and Sansa couldn't help but think to herself sadly about how often he looked down on himself. At the same time, she felt inspired: he was an amazing leader, and there were still many years to come for him to grow more into his role.

Luckily, they didn’t run into any problems. By the time they reached Mole’s town, they had only been travelling for a week. After finding an inn, they were all relieved to be staying in rooms with actual beds.

Sansa found that night strange and even almost lonely. With Cor sleeping in the tent with the other men, Sansa missed his warmth, but still managed to share with Ellina or Lyn. Now, with no one in the bed with her, she feels the same sense of isolation that she had felt in Kings Landing.

When they were younger, Jeyne and she would share a bed. After returning to Winterfell, she shared her bed with Cor. But in between that time, the loneliness, and the cold, empty space next to her had made her heart ache. She tells herself that it is stupid to feel this way, and that it is best that only few know of their bed sharing, but selfishly, she doesn’t care if they know.

She wants Cor- and no one else.

It takes her awhile to finally fall asleep. She had stared at the spot next to her where Cor would normally lay. She doesn’t even notice slipping into slumber, until Lyn and Ellina come bursting in the next morning, throwing open the curtains.

Squinting at the bright light flooding the room, Sansa pouts at her friends as they begin to rummage through her bags to find her dress. They pull it out of her bag and shake the dress out a few times. It is similar in design to the high collared style that Lord Baelish wears. Sansa despairs of how much she actually likes his style, but comforts herself that at least it isn’t the black he would usually wear.

Instead it is a soft, pale blue colour, with grey fur lining. The dress falls to her knees and underneath she wears dark grey breeches and her usual boots. The outfit is fit for riding, but still embodies the elegant look she needs to reflect with her station and title. She runs her hands over the silver and white embroidery of wolves and snowflakes on her bodice as she waits for Ellina to finish braiding her freshly washed red hair, into a crown.

For practicality she had left her actual crown back in Winterfell, and was happier for that. It was made of heavy metals- iron and steel- not made for southern comfort, but rather to always remind the wearer of the weight of their title as monarch.

Stepping out of her room with her repacked bags, Sansa meets Cor in the stables. He is wearing his usual dark ensemble, though the tunic he wears over his black long sleeved shirt is the dark blue one she made him. His deft fingers are tightening the saddle buckles as he murmurs quietly to the horse. His black, furred cloak sways with his movements and Sansa is once again struck with how intimidating he must look to outsiders.

He has Gilgamesh’s sword strapped on his back, under his cloak, as well as his usual sword strapped to his waist. Awhile back, Sansa had asked him why he didn't leave Gilgamesh’s sword in the pocket dimension. To which he explained,

“I don’t know how it’s magic will react to mine. And subsequently yours. After we made the Oath, my magic is now based in this world, and since Westeros and Eos’ magic is different, I don’t want to somehow destroy the sword or lose it.”

It made sense, and Sansa had nodded along. Then he sheepishly admitted that he liked to carry it around because it looked ‘ _cool_ ’, to which Sansa had laughed.

It took them a few hours of hard riding to finally reach Castle Black, but eventually they were near the towering icy walls. As the large gate creaks open, Sansa urges her horse forward. She is at the front of their group with Cor close behind. She notices that there is strange mix of Night’s watch brothers, people in fur pelts, and men with the Baratheon stag on their shields walking about the Castle's keep. Many had stopped to watch the new arrivals enter.

Sansa turns her head, looking over the sea of men to find Jon. Their horses pull to a stop in the middle of the courtyard, and Sansa is quick to dismount, still searching for her cousin/brother.

Despite knowing that he is technically her cousin, Sansa knew Jon was raised as their brother and nothing could change that. In her heart, she is worried that Jon would be more excited if it was Arya here _instead_ of her.

Movement from above has her looking up to a stairwell and balcony, and then she spots him. With his dark hair and perpetually solemn look, he really does look like her late father. For a second they are both frozen in place, their eyes locked, and feet grounded. And then Jon comes rushing down the stairs and Sansa flings herself into his arms.

It was so _lovely_ to see him again.

She doesn't want to pull away, but she hears as Cor and her guards come closer. She moves slightly away from Jon and then turns to introduce them.

“Jon, this is my Shield, Cor Leonis, as well as my two guards Ellina and Lyn. The rest are Knights of the Vale. They are here thanks to Lord Royce.”

Jon gives them a nod in greeting, to which her guards do the same. The pleasantries don’t last long, as they are quickly ushered into the hall, where King Stannis is waiting for them.

“King Stannis.”

“Lady Stark.”

Sansa raises a single eyebrow at the way he dismisses her title, but other than that, refuses to show any other reaction. Her She-wolves shift a little and tense at the insult, but Sansa sends them a small look and they stand down.

The two monarchs stand across from one another in the hall, as the fire crackles behind the older man. He truly does look much like Mya, with his dark hair and blue eyes. But unlike the larger build that she has, his body slimmer and lithe. He was said to be a dourer man, and Sansa can see that in the rigid way he stands and his lack of finery that most Southern kings would wear. Simplistic and practical is the best way to describe him. The way he is assessing her is similar to the look Cor gets at times. Sansa flicks her eyes over to her Shield and sees that look mirrored. Looking at Stannis, she nods her head slightly in gratitude.

“I would like to thank you for riding to the aid of the Night's Watch. I had heard that no other lord or king had done the same. It means much to me that my Kingdom and people are safe.” She speaks with honesty, but she is trying to hold back on the instinctive need to flatter and appease the man.

She knows falsities would not work here.

He nods back, but then gruffly speaks, his tone serious, “Let us move past pleasantries, my Lady. You have fashioned yourself as _Queen_ after your brother’s death. I would have you bend the knee to me as King of the seven kingdoms.”

Sansa doesn't outwardly react, but she mentally laughs at his audacity. He was much to the point it seemed. That never fared well in politics.

She keeps her posture as strong as she had when she entered the room and denies his demand calmly. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I promised my people that the North would remain independent as it was for 8,000 years, just as King Robb had done. But that doesn’t mean I won’t support you as King over the other six.” Sansa offers in concession. 

He frowns in annoyance and offers her an alternative, “You could kneel, and be Warden of the North instead.”

“ _No_.” Sansa bluntly states.

For a moment, there is a heavy silence at how easily she shut down is proposal. Strong and passionate, she looks him dead in the eye, and asks him, “King Stannis, what do you know of the North? _Truly_. Do you know of our customs, or our ways of living? The North is _the_ largest of the seven Kingdoms. It is wild and harsh, and the northerners are independent and loyal _only_ to their land. The South knows _nothing_ of our lands, and it was foolish of Aegon to even try. Torrhen _only_ bent the knee because of the dragons and their threat to his people. But, there are no more Targaryen kings.”

Pausing, she gathers the rest of her words.

“I will be blunt, your majesty. You will _never_ have me bend the knee, nor submit to your rule. _No one_ will ever have me bend the knee. You will have to kill me before that would ever happen. And if you did, don’t think that the North will willingly go under your rule. So here is my proposal: I will accept you as my fellow monarch, and even help you take the throne. But only _if_ you will help with the army beyond the wall.”

Throughout her speech his frown stays permanently attached to her face. He is clearly furious at how she stubbornly rejects his commands. But her words have his expression turn into one of confusion. “‘ _Army_ ’? You mean the Wildlings?”

Shaking her head, “I’ve heard they preferred to be called Free folk. But no, not them. It’s what they are running from that is the real threat. That is why I wish to settle all those willing to follow our laws on the other side of the wall.”

“And what exactly are they running from then?” Stannis asks.

“The undead.”

Silence reigns through the hall as he stares baffled in disbelief. Quickly exchanging looks with the man standing on his right, he scoffs, “Preposterous.”

Raising an eyebrow again, she gestures to the woman in bright red standing on his left. “You say that yet you let the Red priestess sacrifice men to a god, believing of his favour in you.”

The woman goes to speak, but Stannis waves her off. He eyes her contemplatively, and gestures for Sansa to continue. A part of her is a little peeved at how he denies her title and acts as if he has higher power over her- his army is starved and barely a tenth of hers. She calms herself though: at least he is willing to listen.

As if indulging her like she is a child, Stannis asks, “Tell me about this so-called army of the undead then.”

Narrowing her eyes, Sansa files the dismissal away in her mind, remembering the slight, butchoosing to answer him with respect.

“The Night King, an ancient enemy my ancestor, Bran the Builder fought and defeated, but never truly destroyed, has risen. He has had over 8,000 years to slowly gather strength, raising the dead and commanding them for his army. For every Free folk that dies, for every Night’s watch man that falls, he will raise them again. _That_ is the enemy we must face. When he has fallen, and the living has won, I will happily discuss the ruling over the North with you again.”

The man on his right steps forward and begins to talk to Stannis in quiet whispers. As the red woman steps forward to join the discussion, Sansa senses that this is a break in their talk. She turns away and makes eye contact with Cor. His posture is rigid and he is watching Stannis with a narrowed look, both assessing and angry. When he darts his eyes to her, she gives him a soft, reassuring smile. She isn’t entirely offended by the King’s behaviour, but it seems that Cor is on her behalf. Her She-wolves and guards also look tense. Murmuring in a gentle voice for them to hear, “ _Calm down_.”

At her words, she watches them shift and settle around her. Sansa hears the discussion behind her come to an end and turns around to face Stannis again.

Looking faintly mutinous, but conceding, he drawls out, “Very well then. What is the best way to defeat this army?”

A flicker of a smile passes over her face at his response. She knows he is a good tactician, and an intelligent man. It’s relieving to see that he is acting like it. She knows men don’t like having to take orders from a woman, much less a girl, but she has noticed that he hasn’t judged her for being a woman.

He is only disputing her claim to the North because he believes he is the rightful King.

“Fire, Valerian steel, and dragonglass, of which I believe there is a large mine of under Dragonstone.” She gives him her answer, and watches as he frowns with suspicion.

“And just _how_ do you know that?” he demands, his voice grinding out in a faint growl.

“ _Magic_.” Sansa answered, blithely.

She continues, ignoring the looks she is receiving- especially the speculative look the red woman is aiming at her- “We need to mine the dragonglass and ship as much as possible to Winterfell. At Winterfell, we can forge weapons.”

Jon speaks up from where he is standing at the side of the hall. Sansa turns to him immediately. “The Night King is still gathering his army. We can only wait until they attack. We don’t want to meet them past the wall, as the environment and climate will have us at a disadvantage. The good part is, we still have plenty of time to prepare.”

She watches with annoyance as Stannis easily turns to her brother-cousin and seem more at ease to speak on tactics with another man. “How long do you estimate?”

Frowning in contemplation, Jon says, “At least a years time, maybe less.”

Sansa cuts in, “This gives us plenty of time to build of food stores and relocate the small folk.”

She is firm in her decision to take care of her people, all of them. The small folk make up most of the North’s population, as they tend to do everywhere else. Sansa and the lords depend on them for money, food, and loyalty, just as they depend on the nobles for protection. Sansa saw during the bread riots what they can do when angered, and that is something she doesn’t want to happen during her rule.

Stannis though seems to agree with her, nodding in approval. A small part of her wants to stand up with pride at the acknowledgement of an adult, but she snuffs that insecure part of herself out quickly.

"First we must mine dragonglass. The sooner we get the materials, the sooner we begin making weapons. I have a blacksmith that can go with you. He is an excellent smith and would do well. I could also send Lord Yohn Royce with you as an additional advisor. I trust him completely, and he is a very knowledgeable man.”

Stannis hums in agreement, “Yes, I’ve heard of the man, though I don’t believe we have interacted.”

Turning to the man on his right, “Ser Davos, you will be the one to lead the excursion, taking some men with you.” He looks back to Sansa, and she nods. She will have to send a letter to Lord Royce on the update.

“When I return to Winterfell, we can travel together. I can also inform Lord Manderly of the need to use his ships. I’m sure he will be happy to help.”

“As for the Free folk,” Sansa turns back to Jon, “May I speak to their leader?”

Jon looks a little unsure, but nods, leaving the room swiftly.

“I’ve heard you have your daughter with you, your Majesty.” Sansa states, as they wait in silence for Jon's return. Stannis is immediately on guard. Sansa approves of the man's quickly protective nature. Perhaps Jon was wrong in thinking that the king would kill his daughter.

“What is that knowledge to you?” He barks.

Ser Davos also looks tense at her words. She is relieved that this girl has a father and another to protect her in the way she wishes her father did.

“The Wall is both cold and dangerous. This is not a good place for a young child. I would offer up Winterfell for her to stay during the duration of the war and it’s coming preparations. I _swear_ on the old gods that she will not be a prisoner like I was nor will she be treated unfairly.”

“And why would you be so _generous_ , Queen Sansa?”

Her gut curls in pleasure at him finally recognising her title. Sansa is humbled by being Queen, and understands the duties and hardships of it. But she has won it fairly, and at the very least would like for it to be acknowledged.

“Because I don’t hurt the innocent. I’ve been on the other end of that, and would never allow another to suffer, if I have the ability. And my younger sister has returned home. Mayhaps they could enjoy one another’s company.” Sansa suggests.

Forging political ties makes for good alliances, especially if done so young. Just look at her father and King Robert: the loyalty from a boyhood friendship held strong through the years. Sansa, despite how that loyalty led to the downfall of her family, couldn’t dismiss the advantage of it.

Stannis seems to understand what she is suggesting, and nods, reluctantly. “I will ask Shireen on her opinion of this decision.”

The hall door creaks open, ending their conversation. As she watches a large man enter the room, Sansa is still a little shocked at Stannis’ words: he would want his daughter’s opinion instead of immediately deciding her future? A part of her is jealous of their relationship, but she quickly shuts that thought out.

She turns her full attention to the man who has entered the room with Jon and gives him a small curtsey in greeting. He seems amused with her manners and gives her a teasing bow back. His hair is just as bright as hers, and under his bread, there is a wide grin.

“Ya look nothin’ like the little crow here.” The man’s voice is gruff and full of amusement. Sansa smiles back in reply. “I take after my mother, ser.”

Barking out a laugh, he retorts, “I ain’t no ‘ _ser_ ’. Tormund Giantsbane, currently leading the Free folk.”

“Sansa Stark. I’m the Queen of the Northern lands, and I would like to extend hospitality to your people. I understand that it’s dangerous with the white walkers, and would also like to keep their numbers as low as possible.”

His jovial faces turns serious, and he rumbles out, “I ain’t kneeling, Kneeler.”

She doesn’t feel insulted, nor slighted. Who is she to judge someone else’s culture and way of living. But there are still lines she will not cross, and she explains that to him. “I’m not _demanding_ you do. I know only a little of your culture, and wouldn’t demand you to kneel. All I ask is that if you settle in my lands, you _follow_ the laws of it. That would mean, no stealing, of women or food. No killing or raping of _my_ people. You may self-govern in the area given to you, but outside of it, you must follow our laws. And in return, I will do my best to make sure your people can settle without problems. I know that our people hold hostility to one another, but right now, we cannot be enemies.” 

He observes her, letting her words sink in before finally, slowly nodding. “I can agree to that. Where would you have us settle?”

Exhaling silently in relief, she begins negotiations with land and food.

That evening, Sansa is having a private meal with Jon. She wants to catch up with the boy turned man. Cor seemed hesitant, not wanting to leave her alone, but eventually concedes. He instead decides to stick with Lyn and Ellina, not wanting to leave them alone in a castle full of men. Sansa is grateful for his decision. Her She-wolves have progressed in leaps and bounds with their fighting, but they are still learning.

Sitting in front of a crackling fire, sipping warm soup, Jon and her speak, slowly at first, but increasingly familiar to her. He regales her with the friends he has made, and his journey on the other side of the Wall. He tells her what it was like in the Free folk camps, and about Mance Rayder, the King beyond the Wall. He also speaks softly of a woman called Ygritte, a small blush staining his face. Teasing him a little, she finds out the woman was currently staying with the Free folk camps.

And then they get into her journey, and how she escaped and got home.

“You’ve changed, Sansa.” Jon observes.

Sansa raises an eyebrow at that statement. “Is that good or bad?”

“Good, I think. Though it’s strange to see you in charge. You used to be so happy with being a lady and doing what you were told.” He lets out a nostalgic chuckle, a small huff of amusement.

Sansa thinks he means well with his words, but she chafes at the way he says it. ‘ _Is it truly so strange for me to be in charge of anything?_ ’ she thinks to herself.

She shrugs gracefully in response, taking a quick sip from her soup before responding. “Well, I was raised to follow the orders of my mother and father. When I lacked that, and was a prisoner for so long, I realised I could step up and fight back- be in charge of my own life. And then I went and got my home back.”

“And now you’re queen, which is something you’ve always wanted.” He gives her a teasing grin, but now she is actually annoyed, unable to meet his good humour with her own.

Like with Arya, it’s like her dreams and her goals are childish or amusing. Most highborn ladies dream of being the Queen at a young age, and for a moment, she was going to be one through marriage. It wasn’t even that much of a surprising betrothal. King Robbert and her father were friends, and it was natural that they would marry their children together. So _why_ was it so strange or funny to her family?

Arya _never_ liked anything that Sansa did, so _of course_ she hated Joffrey. Sansa never saw how Joffrey acted with her brothers, but it’s safe to assume that he wasn’t the kindest to them, so they hated him too. They hated the way she fawned over him, that she tried to make the relationship between herself and her future husband happy. _It’s what she was told to do!_ She wanted her relationship to be one of love like with her parents, why was it _so wrong_ for her to _try_?

And now he says that her being Queen was something that she always wanted!? She never _actually_ wanted to be Queen! Not really as a child. It was a dream, a _fantasy_. What she _always_ wanted was for her family to _truly accept her_ for the way she was, and to have a loving husband and family. _That_ was what she truly wanted in life.

The soup tastes bitter in her mouth, and she sets the bowl down with a click. Jon seems to sense her sour mood and frowns in confusion, “Is something wrong?”

She looks down, and whispers, “Is it _so wrong_ of me to be Queen? Do _you_ wish to have the throne instead?”

Startling in his seat, he is quick to rebuke her, “ _What? No!_ Why would you ask that!?” He is loud and confused, and she is grateful that he is so easy to read and open with his emotions.

Still:

“ _Because you could,_ ” She explains, seriously. “If you wanted. If you wanted to be King, I could be forced to annul your vows to the Night’s Watch, and then you would be made King. Many men would _rather_ a man instead of a woman leading them.” Her mouth twists in bitterness at the truth of her words.

Jon gapes at her and exclaims in disbelief, “ _But I’m a bastard!_ ”

Letting out a derisive laugh, she yells back, feeling her anger unfolding at the reality of the world she lives in, “That means _nothing_ to them! You are a _male_! You will _always_ be much preferred over any true born daughters. So I need to know. _Do you want to be King?_ ” Distantly she realises she is now standing with him, but it doesn’t matter, because looking in his grey eyes, she searches for any lies.

“ _No_.”

“Are you lying?”

Now angry he growls back, “ _I’m not!_ Sansa, I would _never_ want to be King.”

Cocking her head to the side, she wonders, “Even if I told you who your mother was?”

All the air leaves him as he stares at her with shock. He breathes out a soft and terrified, “ _What?_ ”

A feeling of pity rises next to her anger, and she gently, softly, tells him, “I know who your parents are, Jon."

A few days after they northern lords had declared her queen, Howland Reed had requested a private meeting. In her gut, she had dreaded meeting with him. And she was right to feel that way. He told her of Jon’s parents and of how they met. She never knew the full story, father having shied away from the topic. It was almost reminiscent to the way Bran shied away from talking of Suha.

To hear Lord Reed tell the story of how Aunt Lyanna had fought in a joust, and her wild bravery, she had felt bitterness well up in her throat. This was why father had preferred Arya: because she reminded him of the sister he loved and lost.

She knew what Howland wanted, practically implying that Jon should be king. Sansa however, just accepted the story and promised not to tell anyone. She told him that she would only tell Jon and ask him if her wanted to be king.

“If he says no though, I will not fight him on it. This is a secret best kept quiet, as the North would come for his head. He has enough judgement as a bastard, I would not add more to it.”

Howland had conceded, understanding her words. She couldn’t help but ask though, “Am I _truly_ a terrible option as Queen?” Sansa hated how small her voice sounded, but she needed to know. She needed to know if she could be good for her kingdom, and her need for acceptance and validation was a flaw that she hated. But it was hard to get rid of years of habit.

For a moment he was silent, watching her. But she saw how his eyes softened when he murmured, “You looked like Lyanna, standing up there in the hall. So strong and _passionate_. But you are more controlled than she ever was. Time will tell, but I do believe you can be a good ruler.”

She didn’t know how to react to being compared to her Aunt, shocked that that was even possible. So instead, she pushed that comparison aside, and thanked Lord Reed for his words.

Telling Jon now, she watched how bitterness, shock, and self-disgust reflected onto his face, and listened to how he muttered to himself, “So I was _never_ a real Stark to begin with then.”

Incredulous at his gall, she scowls, “ _Excuse me?_ Did I not just say your mother was Lyanna Stark?”

“But I’m a Targaryen!” He exclaims in defence of his own idiocy.

Incensed by his words, she begins to yell back, her anger rising. “And I’m as much of a Stark as a Tully! How _dare_ you ignore your mother’s blood in you for a father who _started_ the war to begin with.”

“But _she_ was the one to runaway with him! It was _her_ decision!”

Her rage explodes out of her, angered at the judgement on her aunt. “ _You truly didn’t hear a word of what I’ve said_! She was _scared_! She _didn’t want_ to _marry_ a man who would _never_ be faithful to her, and _I don’t blame her!_ She would have anyways, but was given an out. Most girls would’ve taken it. And also, she was a girl! _A child!_ She was _my_ age, and had to give birth alone and without any support of her family. A war was raging on around her, for her, and _all she wanted_ was to be _home_! She was as much a _victim_ as a participant. A sheltered child doesn’t know what the real world is like.”

“ _But_ -“ He tries to interrupt, but she just glares at him, cutting off what ever words of defence he wants to say.

“ _I’m not finished, Jon Snow!_ I was sheltered, and that was our father’s fault. _Yes_! Eddard Stark was your father because he raised you like a son to the best of his abilities! How you are _raised_ matters more than to the _blood_ in your veins to me. You are a _Stark_. And he _failed_ his family. He _never_ told mother, and that led to a rift in our family because he couldn’t trust her. She hated you _because of him_ , and that caused you to be treated unjustly. He never told us of the realities of the world and that _tore us all apart!_ I love him, but he has made _many mistakes._ ”

It’s at this moment that the door swings open and Cor stands in the door way. For a second she is confused, but then checks her emotions and heart. It’s beating wildly in her chest, and the anger she felt was heavy in her stomach. She holds her hand up to Cor, signalling for him to stand down as she looks back to Jon.

“You are a Stark, and you will _always_ be one.” She affirms, bitterness leaking into her voice, “ _You’re too much like father to be otherwise._ ”

And with those parting words, she sweeps past him, Cor following quickly after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! If y’all have seen the note on the fic description, I’m safe! My area hasn’t been told to evacuate yet, and hopefully the fires die out before I have to. But I wanted to warn y’all in case I didn’t update for a awhile. I know that I myself get anxious if authors go so long without updating. I’m constantly thinking if they’ve died or are in trouble of some kind. 
> 
> So Stannis and Sansa are a little off on a rocky start, but that is just them clashing. Stannis doesn’t really know what to make of her, and Sansa can see her Father in him and doesn’t like that. But things will change.
> 
> And Sansa went off on Jon! I always hated how he was like, ‘but im a targaryen.’ Bruh. You have a mother too ya know. And you were raised by the Starks. Stfu and realise that new parentage doesn’t change the fact that you are still family. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Until next time!


	29. Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short talks at the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a filler chapter, sorry. They had to go to the Wall, but i honestly found it annoying trying to write all this.

The next day, the meeting with the leaders of the Night’s Watch was as chaotic as Sansa expected. Though Jon was given the title of Lord Commander, there was still Alliser Thorne, Othell Yarwyck, and Bowen Marsh. They were all entirely against the Free folk settling into the Gift, the Night’s Watch lands that they used for food and supplies.

When Sansa had entered the room, they were halted in their argument to look at her before quickly getting back to their yelling. She was getting tired of this constant dismissal. It wasn’t even because she was their Queen that she was annoyed. It was just basic _manners_. Jon seemed to be uncomfortable, not wanting to make eye contact after last night, and Sansa was fine with that.

He had a lot to think about, and she was still angry at him.

The men sat at the head table, arguing back and forth, with Sansa and Stannis standing in the middle of the hall watching. The other men brought up good points, about the possible threats the Free folk could be. As well as the fact that they need that land to feed their men. But Sansa was starting to get a headache from all the yelling.

Finally she broke her silence. “All this arguing will lead to nothing, and I don’t like to use my power as Queen, but by the gods I _swear_ I will command you all to be silent.” At her voice, raised to be heard, but still a deadly cold tone. The men quieted down, uneasy.

Nodding, approving of them settling down, Sansa continues. “Good. Now, you _all_ bring up valuable points, but it still stands that a truce has _already_ been brokered and they will be settling into the Gift, whether you are happy about it or not.”

Slamming his fist on the table, Alliser bellows, “That land is the Night’s Watch property!”

Cooly facing his rage, Sansa informs him with a steady voice, “And it was donated to _you_ by _House Stark_. As I am the Head of House Stark, I am reclaiming it again. _Temporarily_.” She adds in concession. “When the war is over, then we will reopen the negotiations with the Free folk, and I’m sure we can work things out. Besides, you don’t need the _entire_ land, as the numbers of the Night’s Watch have dwindled. There is plenty of land to share.” Giving him a courtly smile, her insides clench when he yells at her again.

“They are _savages_! They are not like us!”

She holds back a flinch out how terrifyingly _familiar_ this all seems. A man in a chair, yelling down at her. For a brief second she sees Joffrey.

Cor then steps forward, his eyes blazing with anger as he coldly asks, “Have you heard of _basic_ human decency, Ser? Or is that something _else_ you are lacking, along with _your manners_? There are _children_ with those people. Children who are _innocent_ to whatever crimes you are thrusting onto them. But seeing as I can’t appeal to your _morals_ , how about we look at the facts, _hm_?”

Sansa is watching him, feeling grateful with him stepping in. She holds back the urge to grab his hand or even hug her Shield to comfort herself. Cor flicks his gaze to her, seeing if she is alright before looking to Jon, as he continues. “You have what? 200 men at the _most_? And you think _you_ can defend the Wall without the help that the Free folk can offer? What were the number you gave us yesterday?”

Cor turns to where Tormund was standing by the wall, watching the proceedings with a tense rage. “Around 2000, almost 3000 of us.” He rumbles out. The joviality from yesterday’s meeting gone.

Turning to look at the men sitting at the table, he continues with his derisive tone. “And _assuming_ that over these last few thousand years, the Night King has slowly accumulated over 80,000 undead soldiers. Slowly picking off and killing any of the Free folk and your men that died beyond the Wall. You do not have the _ability_ to fend off an attack of that scale, no matter how much you protest. Those people will move past the Wall, and you can do nothing but deal with it. _Understood_?” She marvels at the way he sounds so authoritative, so unused to this side of him.

Alliser is still not backing down though. He has stood up from his seat, hands fisted on the table. “ _And who are you to command me!?_ ” He growls, seething with rage.

Standing with the posture of a predator, Cor responds. “Cor Leonis, _Commander_ of the _Northern army._ Which means, until the war is over, the Night’s Watch men are under _my_ command. _Including you_.” A feral grin crosses his face, and Alliser seems to blanch at that undertone of threat.

After that it was quick in getting the Free folk to the other side of the Wall, having been camped not too far from it. Sansa watched as the people in heavy furs trudged past the gates, casting wary eyes at everyone who wasn’t them. Sansa knew her journey to the Wall and stay there would be short, depending on how quick the negotiations with Stannis would go. Seeing as everything was settled fairly quickly, they planned to leave back to Winterfell tomorrow, his weak and hungry men in tow.

That morning, before the meeting, Sansa had scratched out a quick letter for Lord Royce, wanting him to look over their stores and see what they can supply, as well as prepare space for them. She also finally gave in to his wish of Lord Baelish being dealt with. Sansa promised him that when she returned, it would be her first task, after providing help for Stannis’ men.

Turning away from watching the moving crowd of Free folk, Sansa stops at the sight of the Red Priestess. Up on the battlements, watching the crowd, she was alone. Cor was over seeing the proceedings, though keeping her in view just in case, in the courtyard of the castle. The woman was watching her with an expression of intrigue, head slightly tilted, observing.

Her hair was a deeper red than Sansa has ever seen, almost unnatural, holding the colour of blood. Now that she had Sansa’s attention, the woman glides closer, her movements slightly provocative. The subtle grace reminded Sansa uncomfortably of Cersei, as well as the gleam of arrogance in her grey eyes.

“You hold a strange magic in your body.” The woman states, her voice strange and foreign.

Sansa holds back the need to roll her eyes though, finding the woman’s mysterious act annoying and it’s only been a few seconds. With a sigh, Sansa decides to be a little childish, having felt stressed all day. “ _Normally_ , when you start a conversation with a stranger, you introduce yourself. Shall I go first, so you know how it’s done?” She finishes sarcastically.

The woman’s lips quirk a little, humoured by her snark. “Melisandre. An Asshai of R’hllor, the Lord of Light.” The pride and love in her tone, has Sansa almost wondering about the woman’s past, and how she came about being so devoted to her god.

Humming in interest, Sansa replies, “Can’t say I’m familiar with the god. But I _am_ familiar with the way you murder people by fire.”

The look of disgust and disapproval she shoots Melisandre’s way is met with a solemn gaze. The woman replies seriously, but no less mysterious, “The Lord of Light demands sacrifice for knowledge and power.”

A huff of breath, “Steep price.” Sansa remarks.

There is a pause as the red woman looks at her with a calculating gaze, and Sansa holds back the urge to shift in discomfort under such a heavy stare. Then she finally speaks, “You have paid a price too. For your magic.”

Sansa stills. “Have I?”

A far away look cover the woman’s eyes, as if seeing something Sansa can’t. Apparently she can, as a somber tone fills her words. “Such torment and pain. So much tragedy has revealed the true nature of your family’s power.” Eyes refocusing back onto Sansa, the priestess tilts her head, “Isn’t _that_ a price?”

Holding her gaze, despite wanting to look away from such a piercing look, Sansa forces herself to reply as steady as she possibly can. “I suppose it is. Though my magic comes from _me_ and my bloodline. Yours is by the death of _innocents_.”

Sansa knows she is on the defence, but her abuse being brought up so casually has a cold shiver running through her that isn’t from the weather. She can see the flashes of a sword, her screams of pain echoing in her ears. Clenching her eyes shut tight, Sansa tries to banish the phantom aches on her back and thighs, taking steadying breaths.

“Many were criminals.” Melisandre points out, like it isn’t a big deal that people were burnt alive.

Opening her eyes, giving the woman a heavy glare, she hisses, “ _But some weren’t._ ”

The woman just shrugs, almost amused at Sansa’s anger, turning to observe the men moving below them. It looks as if much of the Free folk have moved from the northern side of the Wall, and are now in her lands, looking unsure and wary. Scanning around the courtyard, Sansa spots Cor having a conversation with Tormund, his posture relaxed. For a brief second, he glances her way, before looking back at the larger man after assuring that she was safe.

“Your Shield.” Melisandre’s voice calls her back to the conversation, and Sansa tenses at the woman bringing up Cor. “I can not see anything about his past, nor his future. His life is hazy to me when I’ve looked into the flame for answers. Another god protects him.”

There is frustration and puzzlement in her voice, her red brows furrowing in thought. A curl of vicious pleasure in her gut has Sansa holding back the smirk that wants to break through on her face.

“Good. I should like to keep it that way.” Sansa retorts, satisfied at the woman’s lack of knowledge. ‘ _Thank you, Gilgamesh_.’ Sansa thinks reverently. She wouldn’t be too happy if this woman was going around telling people where Cor is from. Even those they _have_ told are still confused, with them only saying that Cor is from a different land instead of a different world entirely.

“But, I _can_ see him through _you_.” And once again, the woman’s words has Sansa stilling in anxiousness. She begins to rattle off what she has seen through Sansa’s life, though not of the times Sansa visited Cor. “A fear of water, of _loneliness_. Scared of a lack of purpose, he has _devoted_ his very being to you and your cause. What do you give his devotion in return?”

Her question seemed mocking and Sansa’s hackles are rising.

“Can you not _see_ with your magic? Does your _god_ not tell you?” The words are snide covering her unease, but Melisandre doesn’t react, just blinks.

“I can not hear people’s thoughts. Only see their actions.”

Sansa searches for a safe answer, knowing that if she doesn’t reply, the priestess would continue to probe or even go to Cor himself to ask. Licking her lips, she answers steadily. “I offer him a safe place to rest. A hearth and home.”

Eyebrow raised, interested at her reply. “Is that all?”

Narrowing her own eyes, Sansa asks, tone starting to show how irritated she was at this conversation. “Isn’t that _enough_?”

Peering at her, the woman then looks away with a hum, “I suppose it is.”

She is silent for awhile, before wondering out loud, “How _has_ such a person come to have the favour of a god?”

They are back to watching the activity below them when she asks this. They watch as a Free folk child stumbles with their belongings, and doesn’t notice she had dropped what looked like a haphazardly made doll. But Cor does. Gently easing himself through the crowd, never shoving, he stoops down and picks it up. Sansa watches with fondness, as he hurries to the little girl.

Going down into a crouch, Sansa sees the way the little girl and her mother go wary, nervous, at the sudden appearance of him. The mother pulls her child behind her, ready to defend. Cor though doesn’t react at their hostility, just stays crouched, holding out the doll. The girl jolts in surprise and quickly snatches it back, holding it close to her chest. The rude action has Cor faintly smiling in amusement, as he stands back up and gives the mother a nod, who stares after him with a mystified expression.

He returns to his place by Tormund, continuing to look over the proceedings with a watchful gaze. He is ignorant to the looks of almost wonder on the other man’s face, and the way some of the other Free folk look at him with open intrigue instead of the fear they show the other men in the Castle.

Sansa doesn’t look away, a soft smile playing on her lips as she murmurs, “ _He picked a fight_.”

Melisandre gives her a strange look, understandably confused at the inside joke, and Sansa does not care to explain. Taking one last look at the Free folk, Sansa turns and heads down the battlements, joining Cor.

He happily shifts over a little, and they stand together watching the bustling people around the courtyard.

“What was that about?” He quietly asks her, and Sansa doesn’t even pretend to not understand the question.

“She was curious on our magic.” Sansa mutters back, aiming for indifference.

He just gives her a stern look. “There’s more. You wouldn’t be so unsettled if it was just that.”

Hesitating, she asks lowly, not looking at him, “Do I give you _enough_?”

He startles a little where he stands, his voice coming out a little louder and baffled, “ _What_?”

Worrying her lips for a second, turning over a good explanation, she elaborates,“You have sworn yourself to me, and to protect my life. You said it yourself, you left your _entire world_ to stay with me. _Do I give enough in return?_ ” Now she finally turns to look up at him, looking into those grey-blue eyes that she had come to love, and he frowns down at her confused.

“Sansa. It was my _choice_ to follow. You didn’t threaten or manipulate me if that’s what you are worried about. I wanted to come. I knew that I would never return to my home, but I took that into account when joining you. You’ve give me enough.” He nods, but Sansa still is mildly desperate for more. She _needs_ to know she isn’t being wholly selfish.

“ _But what?_ ”

A small smile appears, and she can feel his cold hand slip into her gloved one, squeezing tightly. “ _Your love._ ”

They basks in the contentment, before a gruff voice teases, “ _Aw_ , aren’t you two _adorable_.” And as one their faces become inflamed, having forgotten the third person standing with them.

That evening Sansa and Cor are taking a walk on top of the Wall. Standing in the freezing winds, looking down at the drop below, Sansa feels vaguely dizzy just looking at the far away ground. Cor steps up next to and whistles, impressed.

“So your ancestor built this?”

She nods, wind whipping her hair around as she stares ahead, looking into the land before them, “Yes.” There is a large forest that seems to go on for miles before all view disappears. “Do you think the world _ends_ after all that land?” She wonders out loud, marvelling at the unknown.

Cor hums, “Hm, no. The world is round.” He states casually.

It feels like Sansa’s world freezes. “ _What?_ ” She whispers.

He blinks down at her, and she feels her mouth gaping at him. Furrowing his eyebrows, he looks at her strangely. “Uh _yeah_ , like a ball. It’s round. It curves.” Making rounding hand gestures, as if that helps her bafflement.

Spluttering, Sansa exclaims, “ _Bu-How do we not fall off?!_ ”

Scratching his head he replies, “Gravity?” It comes out like he is stating something obvious, but the foreign word doesn’t register in her mind.

Blinking wide eyed up at him, “What is that?”

Staring at her, dumbfounded, Cor fumbles for an answer. “Uh-“

“Your majesty.” A voice cuts in, pulling them from their strange conversation. Looking behind her, she spots a man of the Night’s Watch standing a few feet away.

Turning around, and walking away from the ledge, Sansa greets the man with a small, polite smile. He looks familiar, but Sansa is unable to put her finger on it. He does a bow and introduces himself.

“Waymar Royce. Third son of Yohn Royce.”

Sansa lights up with recognition, now seeing the similarities between the two. He’s got the same blonde hair, though his is less grey, and the nose is the same as well.

With a smile, she dips her head in greeting. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Ser. Your father has spoken of you and your brothers. He’s told me you joined the Night’s Watch of your own volition.”

The man shuffles his feet bashfully, and gives her a prideful smile. “Yes, your majesty. I am a third son, and do not have any claims to land. So I thought joining the Night’s Watch would be an honour.”

“Few still do join willingly and with out the threat of execution.” Sansa replies, a little mournful at how much things have changed, but praising him for his choice. It used to be a true honour to join and protect the realm. Now it’s full of criminals, and lacking in the numbers they used to have.

They talk for a while, before Sansa decides it’s best to go back down. She sees the way Cor tries to hide his shivering, and even she herself is quite cold up here. But what she has noticed, since taking the throne, is that cold does not affect her as much anymore. She wonders if it is because of magic that comes with the title as Queen of Winter.

Stowing that thought away for later contemplation, they leave the top of the Wall, heading back down to slightly warmer temperatures.

Cor tries his best to explain gravity. It helps that he has a book to show Sansa what the world would look like, summoning it from his armiger when they have retreated to her room. Sitting on the bed, up against the head board, Sansa leans in close to look at the illustrations. Along with gravity, he ends up talking about a few other basic things. Like the sun is a burning ball of gas. Or how the moon pulls the tides. Simple things he has learnt as a child, that wasn’t taught to her.

The realisation that Westeros are full of flat earthers, has him a little shaken with horror. Though thankfully that’s due to them not having realised that the planet is round yet, and _less_ to do with ignoring facts that are blatantly there.

But as the night grows late, and Sansa’s eyes begin to droop, he is pulled back from his teacher-like mode and realises his... _girlfriend_? ‘ _That doesn’t feel like the best word. Calling a queen his girlfriend._ ’ Either way, his Sansa has curled up close to his side, and his own arm had wrapped around her, to make the position more comfortable. Cor had barely even noticed their close proximity until now.

Despite wanting to keep their relationship a secret, it’s actually well known through out the castle, unfortunately. All the workers and soldiers giving him knowing looks when Sansa wasn’t looking, or the teasing remarks from Luka and Theon, though granted, Cor was the one to tell them. However, a jolt of fear had ran through him at the thought of what horrible rumours could be running about, about him and Sansa when they are alone. So he had took Macel aside, the man very respected throughout the army, and got him to set one thing straight in the rumour mill: Him and Sansa _are not_ having sex.

It was important for that to be known, as he didn’t want Sansa’s reputation to be tarnished, no matter how much he thinks that is a stupid ideal. It was also the fact that the very thought had him flustered, and he didn’t want anyone mentioning it. _Ever_.

So luckily, no one has said much. But during the journey here, he got some ribbing from the men on how he wasn’t sharing her tent.

“I want to preserve a little bit of modesty, _thank you very much._ ” He had snarked, and they left it alone.

Cor knows he needs to leave now, return to his room with the other men. But he has _missed_ this closeness, and wanted to savour it for how ever long he could before they begin their returning trip. Leaning on Sansa’s head, where it’s nuzzled into his shoulder, he closes his eyes for a quick second.

‘ _In a minute._ ’ He promises himself. ‘ _I will leave in a minute._ ’

The instincts in him had Cor coming awake in a split second, aware that someone had entered the room. Hand flying to his sword, laying next to his side, his eyes flick open, becoming on guard of the potential threat within seconds. Looking around a room that certainly isn’t his though, he spots Ellina and Lyn, giggling by the door.

Blinking bewildered, the weight on his shoulder and waist has him jerking up, flailing and falling off the small bed. Landing with an ‘ _oof_ ’, he lays on his back, glaring at the girls who are now not even _bothering_ to hide their laughter. Now that he knows there _isn’t_ a threat he can feel his hackles relaxing, and loosens his grip on his sword.

“Cor?” Comes the sleepy and confused voice of Sansa who, in his abrupt movements, had jarred awake. She peeks over the side of the bed, hair mussed and sleepy-eyed, sees him lying in a heap, pouting and indignant. ‘ _Adorable_.’ Is Cor’s first thought. But he always thinks that when they wake up next to one another in the morning.

It doesn’t take too long for her to realise the situation thought and join in on the laughter. However, it’s more of a nervous one at being caught sharing the bed together. It wouldn’t be the first time the girls walked in on them sleeping, and every time he would react basically the same. But, this was the first time he has fallen off the bed. He manages to quickly gather himself, ears burning in embarrassment, and leave the room, hurrying to his _actual_ room.

Upon entering it, the men from the Vale look up, in the middle of getting ready for the day. One gives him a sly grin, named Talbert, the others doing better at hiding their own amusment. Giving them all a stern glare, he points his finger and orders, “Not a _fucking_ word.”

They all look away, feigning innocence, which Cor is in no way convinced. Turning to his pack grumbling, he shrugs out of his grey tunic and black long sleeved under shirt. Sansa, once he arrived and things settled down a little, had made him a few more copies of each piece of clothing. He was grateful that she stuck to the colour scheme of blacks and dark colours. It really _does_ help with intimidation.

Going for all black today, nothing unusual there, he fastens his cloak and buckles his leather straps to his forearms. Once him and the men were all ready, packs slung over their shoulders and swords at their waists, they set out to find Sansa. Walking past the men of the Wall, he reaches the courtyard, figuring she would be there.

They were leaving today, Sansa eager to return home, and since they are travelling with Stannis and his men, Cor predicted it would be a longer journey back. Many of his men were tired and hungry, and Cor sincerely hoped they would make it through the ride back to Winterfell.

Hooking his pack to his horse, he spots Tormund and Jon talking, not too far from him. Tormund looks ready to leave, the last one to join the Free folk in the Gift. Casting a quick look around, and seeing Sansa with her women, he heads to the two men.

They stop talking as soon as they see him, and though Jon looks dour and moody as ever, Tormund gives a wide grin and claps him on the shoulder. Trying not to stumble at the unexpected gesture, Cor quirks his lips into a small smile.

“It was good to meet you both.” Deciding to be nice and add Jon in there, despite how very much Cor didn’t _actually_ like the man. “Tormund. Sansa extends the offer to any women, children, and elderly, who wish to stay in Winterfell when the battle actually begins. She thought it would be best to keep the vulnerable as far away from the enemy as possible.”

The tall man gives a grim nod, “My thanks. I will let my people know of her offer.”

Nodding back, Cor now gives his own fair well, “Have a safe journey, and I hope your people stay the same as well.”

“And you. Keep that queen of yours safe.” Here, the man gives a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, and Cor swallows down the blush that threatens to form. With a withering glare at the man, he gives a nod to Jon, who looks confused, and retreats.

Saddling up and looking over at Stannis’ men, most will be walking, as many lack horses. Some are doubling up, and by the look of it, Sansa has given her horse to a pair of soldiers. Frowning, wondering at how she will travel, Cor sees how she makes a beeline to him, and widens his eyes.

Her frustrated expression has him faltering, though he reaches out his arm automatically to help her up. Legs on either side of him, her arms coming around to wrap around his waist, he determinedly looks forward, trying not to focus on the weight of her body behind him.

Luck enough, the annoyance he feels from her allows him to focus on other things.

“What’s wrong?” He murmurs, head turned back a little so he can hear her better.

“Stannis. I _know_ he is a better man than most, but the way his own men have been pushed to the brink of starvation is _infuriating_.” She hisses in his ear, and a shiver runs through him at the closeness of her voice. Gulping, he concentrates on her words, and nods in agreement.

“Shitty planning, though I guess fighting constantly has him lacking in strong men.” He gives another once over of the weak men. It looks like Ellina and Lyn have paired up, allowing two weak soldier to use Lyn’s horse. The Vale men, have some of Stannis’ men riding behind them. The kindness they are displaying has him welling up in pride.

Sansa hums, “Mm.” Sounding distracted. Glancing at where her focus is, he spots a young girl riding behind Stannis. Similar dark hair and eyes has him realising it’s Shireen Baratheon. The child is looking around the castle grounds, watching the people move around, and with her head turning Cor spots her face.

Grey, scaly skin, cracking across her left side, it’s _horrifying_. Cor hasn’t seen anything like it since coming here. The only thing similar was when an animal or person was affected with the scourge in Eos. And even then, the cases with humans, he never saw a lot of. Having to put down animals infected was deadly, and terrifying. They were rabid and lacking in any critical thought that they used to have, making then twice as dangerous as they normally would be.

“What happened to her?” Cor softly asks Sansa, who turns away and they meet eyes over his shoulder.

“It’s called Greyscale.” She begins to explain is a soft tone, “It’s rare in Westeros, mainly occurring in Essos, but sometimes you can get it here. It’s a skin disease, killing you slowly. The skin hardens and spreads from head to toe. You can live for years in agony before it kills you. It starts to attack your insides, hardening like the skin. Apparently, when it reaches your brain, you go mad, but I don’t truly know. That is only stories. Anyone afflicted are exiled.”

Feeling faintly sick at her explanation, Cor worriedly asks, “ _And is she okay?_ ”

Sansa shrugs, but she too has a saddened expression on her face. Tone sympathetic, she replies, “She was cured. Got it as a babe, and Stannis apparently searched everywhere for a cure. He must’ve found one because she survived and it hasn’t spread. All that’s left is a scar.”

Wincing in sympathy, Cor looks away, not wanting to add to the stares she seems to be getting from those passing by, “Poor kid.”

They head out shortly after that, moving slow but steady. With a larger group than when they arrived, Cor sighs at how long this journey back with take. But with the closeness of Sansa’s body on his back, and the weather marginally warming up as they get further away from the Wall, the trip isn’t so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Westerosi are flat earthers Confirmed. 
> 
> Next chapter they will be back in Winterfell, and the plot will get rolling more. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. Until next time!


	30. A talk, a fight, a talk, a death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa returns to Arya, who has unearthed something Sansa would rather not remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, all explanations will be at the end.

Returning to Winterfell was a relief. The journey wasn’t particularly difficult, but the pace of it had Sansa in a perpetually anxious state, constantly ready to move on even when the weaker men weren’t able to. She stayed patient though, not wanting to make their recovery more difficult.

Riding through the gates of Winterfell, seeing the happy smiles and waves of her people, feeling how Suha had sung at her return. All the tension slipped away, now back in the familiar and welcoming territory.

Cor helped her down from their horse, and she watched with a humble awe as all the people knelt at her return. Arya was the first to move up from her bow, coming up to hug her. Holding tight to her sister, she kissed her lightly on the forehead and then started to draw back. But before she could, Sansa felt a slip of paper being tucked into her belt, hidden from view by her cloak. Through it all, Sansa kept her smile fixed and steady.

“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.”

“It’s good to be back.” Sansa replied honestly.

Sansa set to work immediately, giving out orders for Stannis’ men to be taken care of, brought into the smaller hall in the Winterfell castle itself which Lord Royce had prepared for their arrival. It was warmer than the great hall, and made it easier access for those that would be helping the soldiers heal. Watching the way these men hobbled and had to lean on their helpers, had her heart clenching. She hated how weak and harmed they were, thinking about her own people. Wondering if this is what will come back to her after the war.

Looking over at Cor, who is catching up with Luka and Theon on the running of the army’s training, she felt a bubble of worry, wondering if that was how _Cor_ would return to her.

As if he sensed her dread, he turned his head, catching her gaze. Raising an eyebrow to ask, ‘ _Are you alright?_ ’ She gave a weak smile in return, nodding. Still, he frowned, but conceded, going back to his conversation.

“ _Sansa_!” A voice cries out, happy. Sansa’s smile turned into a more real one, greeting Mya with a large hug. The bigger woman wrapped her up tightly, the strong arms offered a warm embrace. Ellina and Lyn quickly ran over from their horses, joining in the affair as well.

Grinning with glee, Sansa looked over the courtyard and spotted Jeyne, Beth, and Shae. Quickly extracting herself from her guards, she gracefully, but no less eagerly, moved to her other friends. Greeting them with smiles and hugs just as warm, Jeyne soon began to update her on the castle.

Whilst Jeyne showed her the ledgers, Sansa had Shae prepare rooms for Stannis, his wife Selyse, and their daughter.

In the short time of being at the Wall, Sansa never really had the chance to talk with Lady Baratheon. But the way she seemed cold to her daughter, had Sansa unsure of the woman. In her walk after the initial meeting with Stannis, she came across the mother and daughter arguing over Shireen teaching a Free folk how to read. The woman seems to have a fanatical devotion to the Lord of Light, and Sansa tried to steer as far away from the woman as possible.

However, she knew that would be impossible, and seen as ill-mannered to ignore a high-born lady. After having Arya show Shireen to her room, hoping to build a friendship between the two, and shown Stannis to his room, Sansa and Selyse were left alone.

Sansa found it strange that the married couple were not sharing a room, but did not question it, as their private matters were not her problem, unless they escalated and affected her people.

During the walk, Sansa politely asked the woman on her journey North. “I understand the cold is discomforting.” Sansa added, after reaching the room. “So if you have need of more fire wood or blankets, you only need to ask.”

The woman gave her a tight smile, nodded and stepped into the room. As Sansa went to close the door, Selyse suddenly asked, “You do not believe in R’hllor. Do you?”

Bewildered, Sansa shook her head. “I follow the old gods. I always have.”

“I followed the seven. Until Melisandre showed me the light. The true power of R’hllor.” At her reverent tone and almost manic expression, Sansa decided to leave then.

Sansa gave the woman a polite smile, then left her alone, wanting to get far away from the woman’s fanatic gaze as possible. Sansa was coming to the horrifying conclusion that it wasn’t Stannis who wanted Shireen to die, but Selyse. Her skin began to itch in discomfort and unease and Sansa was eager to get to her rooms, ready to change out of her dirty riding gear.

Upon entering her rooms, she walked through the solar into the bedroom and spotted the tub, filled with steaming water. Cor was also there, pulling clothes out of their bags, then placing them into a pile for cleaning. He looked up at her entrance and smiled.

“Stannis’ men are being looked after,” He reported, “And it seems that the training of both men and women is going well. Alysane seems quite proud of her women.”

Letting out sigh, Sansa headed over and behind the screen to undress. “That’s good. Stannis and his family have been shown their chambers, _however_...” She trailed off, trying to untie her tight lacing at the back.

Instantly his voice is alert, “ _What_? Did something happen?”

Refocusing back into the conversation, finally loosening the dress, she said, “His wife, Selyse. She seems almost, _mad_ with religion. Too devoted to the Lord of Light.”

He hummed, “You picked up on that too? I thought it was just the norm.”

She made a non-comital noise, “Maybe for some. But I think she was the one happy with her daughter to be sacrificed.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her. And the priestess too.” Sansa could hear the frown he was making.

Dress pooling to the ground, she shrugged out of her under garments next, “That would be for the best.”

Once Sansa finished changing from her clothes, she peeked out from behind the screen. Cor’s back was to her so she takes that as an allowance to hurry into her bath. With a deep sigh of relief, she sank into the warmth, her aching muscles slowly began to ease. Opening her eyes, not even realising they closed, she spied at how red Cor’s ears were.

A smile of amusement played across her face as she covered herself with a cloth and used her arm to hide her chest. “You can turn around if you want.”

Slowly, he does, hesitant. The red isn’t just in his ears but his entire face, as he resolutely kept his gaze away from her exposed body. With a free hand, she beckoned him over, which he does, movements stilted. He comes to a kneel by the side of the basin, placing an arm on the lip of the tub. Still keeping his eyes on her face, he leant his head against his arm, manoeuvring himself so he couldn’t see the rest of her body besides her upper chest/throat area and shoulders.

With him in that position, she uncovered her breasts, knowing and trusting that he won’t see them. She ducked under the water, wetting her hair, and when she resurfaced, Cor is holding out a bar of soap for her to use.

As she cleans, he began to speak. “After looking at the Wall, I have a few ideas on strategy. Though I need to ask, did you feel the magic?”

Pausing in lathering up her hair, she thought for a moment. When entering the Black castle, she did feel a shiver of magic, but not as strong as Winterfell. But standing on the Wall, there she felt it fully. At first, Sansa didn’t really think much of it, having grown used to sensations of old magic around her from Suha. She had been so preoccupied with the treaty, and helping the Free Folk get through safely and settled, that she barely even noticed the magic.

Once again, Sansa was grateful that Cor is here, to pick up on things that she doesn’t. Just like she does for him. Evenly balanced, their own flaws are covered by the other’s strengths.

With a sigh, she shook her head lightly, “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t really paying attention to it.”

He shrugged, not too bothered. “It’s alright. You had other things on you mind. But what I was thinking, was that, Bran the Builder created it, yeah? And you two share blood.”

Squinting at him, trying to see what he was implying, she replied, “ _Yes_...?”

“So maybe, you can change the Walls structure.” He suggested.

She stared at him for a second before shaking her head, confused, “I don’t understand.”

Frowning, he tried to explain. “Like, you’ve got the very top of the Wall, where we can put trebuchets and a fuck-ton of archers. And people throwing explosives.” She nodded, still a little confused so he continued on. “ _Anyways_. That’s all good, but that is very high up, and could be a disadvantage with the distance. I mean, with that height, things falling will reach their terminal velocity and easily destroy anything with that amount of weight behind it. Like, a balloon of water would be like a boulder hitting you when falling from that height.”

At her even more deeply confused expression, he blanched and then tried to move on from his tangent, knowing that things like terminal velocity isn’t known here. “What I’m trying to get at, is _maybe_ you could change some of it’s structure. Like balconies or ledges lower for archers to shoot off of. Lower battlements and stairs built into the Wall so that they can get around easier. With the change of design, it would make for a more complexed strategy when fighting the enemy.”

Looking down at the water, she pondered that suggestion. “I- I never thought of that. I wonder if that’s what Bran did when he fought them the first time.” After that, she dunked her head back under, and scrubbed out the soap.

When she broke the surface again, Cor asked, “Didn’t they get to Winterfell?”

Cocking her head to the side she admitted, “ _Well,_ maybe not then.”

“Either way, if you can change it or not, I do have few different ideas I want to run by the counsel and my soldiers. Seeing what’s do able and what isn’t. “

Sansa nodded in agreement, “Alright. But first, we have a rat to deal with tonight.”

He perked up, “We’re _finally_ killing him?”

Rolling her eyes in amusement, she corrected him. “‘ _Executing_ ’. And yes. I don’t think there is much use for him now, and he is just being _bothersome_. There is a note on the table from Arya. She says her and I have something urgent to go over, and I’m assuming it’s about him. If not, _well_ ,” She shrugged, “He is getting his trial one way or another.”

A pleased and deadly grin crossed his face, and despite how terrifying it should be, Sansa just looked at him fondly. Leaning over the rim of the tub, she placed a soft kiss on his lips, to which he responds happily, his large, dry hands, cradling her damp face.

Over the last month or so, they’ve steadily gotten less awkward and shy with their affections in private. They haven’t done anything to do with him bedding her, and Sansa was happy with that. She still felt unsure and fearful with the idea, no matter how much she trusted Cor. And Cor had made no move to further their affections either.

Pulling away, Sansa spotted the soft and relaxed expression in his eyes. The lack of frown lines and sternness made him appear younger, his actual age. Her wet hand rans through his long hair, curling at the ends, reaching just past his ears. It’s a good look on him, but Sansa knows he hated it.

“Shall I cut your hair tonight?”

Looking at her suspiciously, he questioned, “Do you know how?”

Nodding, “I’ve helped with him younger brothers. I’m sure I can.”

“... _Alright_.”

Pouting at his hesitance, she tried to reassure him. “I promise not to ruin it. If it starts to look bad, I will get a maid to do it for you.”

Huffing, “That’s _not_ very reassuring, Sansa.”

She just rolled her eyes, and gesture for him to turn around, water now cooled. With another breath of laughter, he obediently turned and she got out, water sloshing a bit onto the floor.

It’s only late afternoon, so after Sansa finished drying, she called for another bath for Cor. He exasperatedly sent her way, after seeing the way she seemed unsure with leaving him alone. He insisted he would be fine, so she left him to it. He must have see how eager she was to talk with Arya, and getting back to the running of the Castle.

She found Arya on the balconies, over looking the training area of the courtyard. Theon was teaching a group in archery, and a few other soldiers were practising with their swords. Not to far from her view, Lyn was sparring with Macel. Arya didn’t look her way as Sansa approached.

“You wanted to speak with me?”

Still looking over the courtyard, Arya began to talk. “Father used to watch us from up here. He wouldn’t say much. _You_ probably don’t remember, you were inside _knitting_ all the time.” The last bit came out dismissive.

“ _I remember_.” Sansa corrected, feeling disheartened at Arya’s jab.

Arya continued as if Sansa hadn’t spoken, lost in a memory. “One time the boys were shooting arrows with Ser Rodrick. I came out here after and Bran had left his bow behind, just lying on the ground. Ser Rodrick would’ve cuffed him if he saw. There was one arrow in the target. There was no one around. No one to stop me. So I started shooting. And after every shot I had to go up there, get my arrow and walk back and shot it again. I wasn’t very good. Finally, I hit the bullseye. It could’ve been the twentieth shot or the fiftieth, I don’t remember. But I hit the bullseye. And I heard this.”

She began a slow, steady clap, Sansa almost entranced with the soft wonder in her younger sister’s voice, weaving the story.

“I looked up. And he’s standing right here, smiling down at me. I _knew_ what I was doing was against the rules. But he was smiling so I knew it _wasn’t_ wrong. The _rules_ were wrong. I was doing what I was _meant_ to be doing and he knew it. Now he is _dead_. Killed by the Lannisters. _With your help._ ”

Startled out of her trance, her breath caught in her chest, the accusation unexpected. “ _What_.” Sansa breathed out.

Arya unrolled the scroll. “ _That’s_ your pretty hand writing. Septa Mordane used to crack my knuckles cause I couldn’t write as well as _you_.”

Another dig at Sansa. She wanted to scream in frustration, thinking they were past this childish behaviour. Thinking that Arya had learnt to respect her hobbies and skills, just as she had learnt to respect Arya’s.

Arya began to read out the letter, tone a mocking distress. “‘ _Robb, I write to you today with heavy heart. Our good king Robert is dead, killed from wounds he took hunting a boar-_ ‘“

Sansa cut in, desperate to not remember how terrified she was in that moment. “You _don’t_ have to read it, I _remember_.”

“‘- _Father has been accused of treason. He conspired with Robert’s brother against my beloved Joffrey and tried to steal his throne. The Lannisters are treating me well and providing me with every comfort. I beg you to come to King’s Landing. Swear fealty to King Joffrey and prevent any strife between the great houses of Lannister and Stark. Your faithful sister, Sansa._ ’”

“They _forced_ me to do it.” She hated the words that left her hand, dictated by Cersei, begging for father to be freed, unable to put what she truly wanted to say. And now it is being thrown back into her face

Vicious, Arya throws back, “ _Did they_? With a _knife_ at your throat? Did they put you on a rack and stretch you until your bones began to pop?” The details she put in her accusation had Sansa feeling sick, nausea building slowly.

“You don’t know what it was like, I was a _child_.” Defending herself does nothing as Arya yelled back.

“ _So was I!_ I would’ve let them _kill me_ before I betrayed my family.”

“They _told_ me it was the only way to save father!”

A scornful sneer made it’s way onto Arya’s face. “And you were _stupid enough_ to believe them. _I remember_ you standing on that platform with Cersei and Joffrey as they dragged father to the block. _I remember_ the pretty dress you were wearing. _I remember_ the fancy way you did your hair.”

Anger and desperation growing, Sansa retorted, “ _And what did you do?_ Did you come, _running to the rescue?_ Did you fight off the Lannisters and saved father?”

“I _wanted_ to-“

“ _But you didn’t!_ Just like me.”

They stare at one another, and Sansa doesn’t know who this person _is_ anymore. She thought she did, but all this _hatred_? Where did it come from? She had _thought_ things were healing between them, getting better.

“ _I_ didn’t betray him. _I_ didn’t betray Robb. _I_ didn’t betray our entire family for my _beloved_ Joffrey!” She spat, gaze hateful.

Her icy mask slipped on as she stepped closer, voice a frigid cold. “ _You should be on your knees, thanking me._ We are standing in Winterfell, _our home_ , because of _me_. _You_ didn’t win it back. _Jon didn’t even try_ to win it back.”

“ _No_. It was you _ever so faithful Shield._ ” She sneered, “He did it all. You couldn’t do it _yourself_.”

Defences up, she tried to implore to Arya’s logic. “ _And no one could’ve done it alone!_ It was us that took it back. It was _me_ who had to withstand the Boltons so that _Cor_ could gain entrance into the Castle. It was the _knights of the Vale_ that rode North to keep it secured, for _me_. All of us, _working together._ While you were off, _what_ , travelling?”

“I was training.” Arya defended herself.

“‘ _Training_ ’?” Sansa mocked, derisive. “ _Well_ , whilst you were off _training_ , I _suffered_ things you could _never_ imagine.”

A dark look passed over her sister’s face, voice quiet, “ _Oh_ I don’t know about _that_ , and I can imagine quite _a lot_.”

Arya moved around her, as if moving to the stairs. Sansa turned with her, not wanting to put her back to a threat. Eyes locking onto the paper in Arya’s hand, she asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice. “What are you going to do with that letter?”

“I don’t know yet.” Arya shrugged casually

“Who did you show it to. How did you find it?” It was Lord Baelish. She knows it, but now how exactly did he get it to her?

Peering at her, Arya remarked, “You’re _scared_ aren’t you? What are you scared of? You didn’t commit any crimes. No one is going to hang you-“

“ _Arya!_ ”

“You’re scared I would show it to the lords. That you would lose their trust and devotion if they found out you betrayed your family and the North, to the Lannisters. They wouldn’t think _much_ of Queen Sansa if they found out she did Cersei’s bidding.”

Drawing herself up, Sansa confidently reminded her sister, “I have _hundreds_ of men and women at Winterfell, all loyal to _me_.”

Taking a step forward, Arya ominously replied, “They’re not up here _now_. They wouldn’t get here in time, if I did something.”

Fists clench, Sansa held back the fear as much as possible, unable to speak. ‘ _Gods, it was like every conversation with Cersei. Never knowing what she will say next, trying not to misstep. This was her sister! She shouldn't be afraid of family!‘_

Looking away, Arya moved back to the railing, looking down at the soldier below. “Back in Braavos, before I got my first face, there was a game I used to play.” The sick feeling comes back. “The game of faces. It’s simple. I ask you a question about yourself, and you try to make lies sound like the truth. If you fool me, you win. If I catch a lie, you lose. _Let’s play._ ” She twists back to meet Sansa’s apprehensive look.

“I don’t want to play.” The red head refused to fall into whatever trap her sister is trying to lay.

Cocking her head to the side, expression almost innocent, Arya asked, “Did you want to do the asking then? It didn’t turn out well for the _last_ person.” Tone going low, an underlining threat.

Looking at the girl, Sansa pleaded softly, “ _Why are you doing this, Arya?_ ”

An eyebrow raised, Arya answered with a faint shrug, taking that as Sansa asking a question and playing the game. “We both wanted to be very different people when we were younger. You wanted to be queen.” ‘ _No I didn’t!’_ Sansa wanted to scream, but her throat choked up, unable to speak out of fear.

Unaware or uncaring of Sansa’s terror, the younger girl continued. “To sit next to a handsome young king on the Iron throne. I wanted to be a knight. To pick up a sword like father and go off to battle. But the world doesn’t let young girls choose what they want. But now I can. With my faces, I can chose who I want to be. I can become someone else. Speak in their voice. Live in their skin. _I could even become you._ ” Sansa shivered at the dark tone in her own sister’s voice, frozen in fear.

She laid her hand on her sword, stepping slightly closer. “Wonder what it would _feel_ like? _To wear_ those pretty dresses? _To be the Queen of the North_. All I need to find out, _is your face.”_

“ _That’s enough_.” A cold, furious voice cut through their argument.

As one they turned to see Cor, who had silently approached the two on the balcony. His face was like thunder as he stalked forward, firmly placing himself between Sansa and her younger sister. Her breathing had become fast, heavy and short of breath, and she was holding back the need to cry.

‘ _Why!? Why did it have to be this way with them? Why can Arya never understand her? Why does she constantly fight against me when I am trying so hard to make things right between us!’_ Sansa screamed desperately in her mind, distraught. 

Arya stared up at Cor, cold anger in her steel grey eyes. “This _isn’t_ between you and me, Cor.”

Narrowed eyes, he disagreed, “Oh it is now, when you so _obviously_ threatened her.”

Scoffing, she questioned, “And what do _you_ think about her betrayal? The way she easily threw aside her family for her _beloved_ Joffrey.”

Cooly answering her disdainful accusations, he replied easily, “I think she was a _child_ , surrounded by enemies, and didn’t want to die or worsen the problem.”

Glaring at Sansa, Arya growled, “ _Then she is a coward._ ” Sansa could feel herself shrinking into herself at that insult. Cor’s eyes flicked to her before going back to Arya. His posture radiated anger despite the calm tone he held.

Sounding dubious, he asked the girl, “It’s cowardly to want to live? To not want a war?”

“ _She shouldn’t of trusted them!_ ”

“ _Why not?_ ” Cor asked, genuinely curious.

That caught her off guard. “ _What_? They’re the _Lannisters_! They’re _evil_.”

Humming in thought, he wondered, “ _And how did you know that?_ Did _someone_ tell you? _Did you see the future_ that your father’s death was going to happen?”

Floundering, Arya stumbled over her answer. “ _Wha-no!_ Joffrey was horrible-“

Cutting her off with an eye roll, Cor, exasperated by her answer, drawled. “ _Yes_. We know that _now_. But that _doesn’t_ make you smarter for thinking that, just because _you_ were right in your assumption. You had _no way_ of knowing he was going to turn out that way, and now to bring it back up. When Sansa has _already_ been punished enough for a mistake she made, as a _child_. _It iscruel and unjust._ ”

Now completely off kilter at his argument, Arya tried to argue back, desperate to make Sansa the villain here, not liking how it had turned back around on her. “But she _still_ gave up her family-“

“ _Because they were kinder to me than any of you were!_ ” Sansa exploded.

Staring at Sansa, gobsmacked, Arya whispered, confused. “ _What?_ ”

Bottom lip wobbling, she could feel the tears building in her eyes as she finally spoke in her own defence. “ _I was an outsider._ You all _hated_ me or looked down on me for my interests, _just because I wasn’t like any of you._ _So what_ if I enjoyed embroidery or knitting? That _didn’t_ make me in any way _inferior_ to you or our brothers. I _knew_ my duty was to marry high, so I endeavoured to _make the best out of it as I could_. Whilst father _favoured_ you, _allowing you_ to get your hopes high that you could be a knight, when he was _still_ planning a marriage for you.”

Hackles rising in defence of their father, Arya denied the possibility that Eddard Stark would ever marry his favourite child off. “ _That’s a lie! Father would never of-!”_

Interrupting, irritated at her naivety, Sansa exclaimed, “ _No it isn’t Arya!_ It’s what is _demanded_ of us! _Expect of us!_ You were just _too arrogant_ to see that!”

Arya stepped forward threateningly, with had Cor holding his arm up, stopping her.

She turned her rage onto Cor, hissing out, “You think you can fight and win against _me_? I was trained by the best.”

Pretending to think it over, he nodded matter-of-factly. “ _Hm_. Yes. I will win.”

Straightening herself up, haughty demanding, “Then let’s go. When _I_ win, _you_ have to leave.”

Cocking his eyebrow up, Cor asked, “And if _I_ win?”

“Who says you will?” She scoffs.

A smirk gracing his face, Cor asked, “Indulge me.”

Rolling her eyes, dismissive, she agreed. “ _Fine_. What would you ask for?”

He sternly looked down at her, and growled out, “ _That you sit the fuck down, and talk with your sister like the adult you pretend to be._ I’ve heard that you did reasonably well, running the Castle in our absence. _Prove_ to us _and_ yourself that that wasn’t a _fluke_. That you can _actually_ act your _age_ instead of a _spoiled child._ ”

Narrowing her eyes at the insult, rage burning like fire in them, she nodded. “ _Deal_.”

Cor was practically _trembling_ with rage. He had felt Sansa’s fear, quickly rushing to her side, only to find that it was her younger sister terrifying her. Fuming at Arya’s _gall_ , Cor was quick to step in, seeing that Sansa was a second away from a panic attack.

Arya held so much rage, still grieving and having no outlet for it. Her entire life had been upturned and she lost her one main defender. To find out that her father would’ve married her off like all men do in this world, she was in denial. Cor was willing to have that wrath directed onto him, as Sansa was unable to take it. He could see the heartbreak in her eyes, feel the _anguish_ at how much Arya and her argued. Arya’s words _constantly_ cut Sansa deep, and Cor feared that if it continued this way, Sansa would _break_ from the vitriol that her sister spat like venom.

He had to hold back a laughter of disbelief though at how Arya _presumed_ she would beat him, thinking she could send away Sansa’s main protector. Jokes on her, that wasn’t even a possibility. He had seen Arya train, the way she moved and fought. Her sword was a thin, small sword. Some would call it a rapier and it was perfect for her small stature. But it was unusual, as all the other swords in this world were larger, and more powerful in weight.

In Eos, he’s seen these swords in museums, fairly common duelling weapons. However, like them, her blade _can not cut_ , it’s triangular, and does not have the front edge and back edge like normal cutting swords do. Or hell, even like his _own_ katanas, which only have one, can still do major cutting damage.

Her sword is triangular so that it’s stiff and rigid, perfect for it’s main style of fighting. Thrusting and stabbing. It could hurt if smacked with the blade, but it’s main damage was through penetrating the skin.

But just because the blade was _thin_ , doesn’t mean it was _weak_. It’s still a lump of steel.

Her fighting style was a mixture of dodging and quick thrusts. But what he has seen is that Arya uses a lot cutting motions, something that her blade is _not_ meant for, expending unnecessary energy. He recalls that she had said that she had only a year or two of training, and it seemed that she was taught by someone with a different type of sword. Either way, that was a flaw in her style that he could exploit.

As a swordsman, and someone who loved fighting with them, he was mainly trained with katanas, and the style that goes with them. But he was also trained with a broadsword and picked up a few moves with other types swords as well. It was kinda his only hobby, barring chemistry, and he didn’t _really_ have friends then. Learning all the different ways to use different blades was fascinating, and helped him when fighting differently styled opponents.

Her style was as if she was fighting with a smaller broadsword. And then with her one-handed usage like she was fencing, and how light the blade was, she could easily be disarmed by a sword that was heavier. The shock absorptions of a heavier and more powerful blade would injure the sword arm, trying to meet each strike. She does practise a lot of deflections though, almost like the fighting style, aikido, turning the opponent’s attack away with simple sweeping motions,redirecting them. It was a good idea, seeing as she was using her small and quick body to her advantage. But she still has a ways to go, and if after all this she was willing to learn, Cor would be more than happy to teach her how to actually use her sword.

With Cor’s katana, normally these style of blades would not hold up under broadswords. Katanas, and where they were originally made (wherever his ancestors came from, Cor doesn’t really know but they aren’t from Eos), they were made with really terrible steel. The folding technique was to help get out as many impurities in the steel as possible, but even a well-made katana would shatter under a broad sword. When his ancestors came to Eos, and found better metal, they kept with the same look of the sword, but the forging methods differed. No longer needing to fold the metal to make it stronger, the blades ended up being able to match up well in terms of strength with broad swords.

And _unlike_ with Arya’s sword, his were _made_ for cutting.

Walking down to the courtyard, Arya not a few steps behind, many of his men seemed to pick up that something was wrong, most likely seeing the argument that was happening above their heads. Hurrying out of the way, clearing a space for them in the training yard, the audience quieted down in anticipation.

Cor, going to pick up a training sword, wanting to not actually injure the girl, he noticed that she just withdraws her own small sword. Frowning at that un-sportsman-like behaviour, Cor forgoes the training sword as well, drawing out the Genji blade from it’s sheath.

Standing across from one another, seeing her cool, almost smug expression, Cor can not _wait_ to beat her, putting her down a peg or tow.

In silence, they watch one another, neither striking first, slowly circling one another. Blades every now and then touching, but withdrawing again. Finally, growing tired of the wait, she strikes first, going for a cutting motion. Keeping his feet in place he parries it aside nonchalantly, leaving her chest open. Stepping forward quickly, he brings his leg up and he kicks her in the chest.

Falling to the ground on her back in a muffled thump, he stepped back, leg lowering and waiting for her to get back up. He’s practised with live blades before, knowing how to hold back so you don’t actually kill one another. He doesn’t think she has had that practise. It’s exactly why they fight with wooden swords. That and constantly using your actual sword to practise will dull the blade, needing more maintenance than if you just use it only in a real fight.

Moving her legs in a spinning motion, she jumps back up into a crouch, baring her teeth. Cor raised an eyebrow at that display, not intimidated and waiting patiently.

Coming at him again, trying to cut at his legs, Cor doesn’t even block the slash, knowing it won’t even draw blood. Maybe a small bruise from the blow, but Cor has has worse. He doesn’t flinch, releasing his left hand from the hilt, he holds the steadily blade with one hand. His now free hand comes up and grabs her wrist, twisting it, and making her drop her blade.

As she bends with his attack, not wanting to break her wrist, she goes for the knife strapped at her waist. Seeing this coming from a mile away, he drops the Genji blade and twists her other wrist. That blade too falls to the ground. With both hands imprisoned she tries to kick out at him.

Dodging easily, Cor lets go of her left hand, twisting her right around her back, and kicking out her legs, making her fall to her knees. Pushing her down to the ground, folding her over her bent legs, he holds the girl there for a few seconds, before releasing her.

It all happened within a few seconds.

Cor turned around to pick up his blade when suddenly his instincts and the castle _scream_ at once. Sword coming up, he slashed at the dagger that had come sailing at his head to the side. Clattering to the ground, Arya had used that time to swiftly pick up her sword and charge at him.

Growling a little under his breath, he indulges her need for violence, swiping aside each slash and meeting her blade. Still, each time, he easily disarms her. Cor could see how her anger kept rising, growing more furious with each defeat. He purposefully doesn’t go on the offence, not wanting the spectators thinking he is trying to hurt her. She is still technically their princess and of higher ranking them him. Finally though, she dropped her blade with a frustrated scream and charged at him, fist cocked.

Keeping one hand on his blade, hanging casually by his side, he dodged her punches and kicks easily, messy and untrained. Finally though, he began to grow tired of her childish behaviour and punches her in the face.

Quickly catching her unconscious body so that she doesn’t injure herself falling to the floor, he lowers her gently instead.

Blood trickles lightly from her nose and he is sure the bruise will make itself known in an hour or two. Sheathing his blade, he gets back down and picks the unconscious child off the ground. Looking up at Sansa, he notices how pale and unsettled she was. Grimacing, Cor also sees all the spectators, watching gobsmacked.

Growling, he barked out, “With a war coming I was _sure_ you all had _better_ things to do than to stand around _like pathetic worms!_ ”

Snapping to attention, the stillness of the courtyard becomes like an upset anthill, people quickly pretending they weren’t watching the fight. With a sigh of annoyance, he begins to head back inside, carrying Arya to her room.

Sansa felt shaken, having watched her sister fight Cor. She knew her Shield wouldn’t truly harm Arya, but she felt his anger, slowly rising, and couldn’t help the fear. It was the dagger that Arya threw that truly set him off, she noticed. Though he knows and trains with unfair tactics, Sansa saw how if Cor dodged that dagger, it would’ve hurt someone behind him. Arya putting other people in danger because she felt inadequate was terrifying and not something Cor was willing to tolerate.

Sansa knew her sister was competitive, never liking to lose, and being met with someone better in a fight had her positively furious. Apparently her sister’s training wasn’t _enough_ against Cor.

Soft steps had Sansa alert, turning to see who has approached from behind. Lord Baelish stands in the shadows, only a few feet away. The gleam in his dark eyes has Sansa on guard in an instant.

“I come with news.” She had _not_ missed that hoarse, conniving voice.

Schooling her expression to be blank, hiding her emotions, Sansa responded, “And what news is that?”

Stepping closer, into her space, she decided to allow it. Her skin crawled but if this was the best way for information, she will persevere. “After King Joffrey died, Tyrion Lannister was accused of murder. He demanded a trial by battle.”

Raising an eyebrow at that information, she asked, “And did he win?”

Leaning on the balcony, over looking the now bustling courtyard, he nodded. “Oberyn Martell fought in his place, against the Mountain. And won. But no sooner after, Tyrion fled Westeros.”

Sansa spotted Lyn watching them, and discretely waved at the girl to stand down. She wished Lord Baelish would just get on with it instead of dragging on the conversation, slowly feeding her the information. She was on the brink of a breakdown and Lord Baelish was not someone she wanted to be there for it. “Where to?”

“Essos. Meereen to be exact. Whispers tell me he is serving Daenerys Targaryen. As her hand.”

Closing her eyes at the mention of that woman, she instead asks a more important question. “Who sits on the throne now? Tommen?” She guessed. ‘ _Poor boy. He was such a sweet child_.’

“ _Tywin Lannister._ ” He whispered in her ear, too close for comfort.

The name strikes an instinct of fear in her chest, tried to keep the distress off her face. The way Lord Baelish observes her, waiting for her reaction had Sansa asking,

“What do you _want_?” Finally looking at the man.

Dark eyes piercing her soul, he asked rhetorically, thinking she knew the truth. “I thought you _knew_ what I wanted.”

“I was _wrong_.” ‘I know you want me. But there is more.’ Is what she doesn’t say.

He picks up on that unsaid statement, slowly shaking his head. “ _No. You weren’t_. Every time I’m faced with a decision I close my eyes and see the same picture. Whenever I consider an action I ask myself, ‘ _Will this action help make this picture, a reality? Pull it out of my mind, and into the world.’_ And I only act if the answer is ‘ _yes_ ’.” Here he managed to somehow step even closer into her space, face leaning into her own. “A picture of _me,_ on the _Iron Throne_. And _you_ by _my side_.”

He then tried to go in for a kiss, but her hand came up and pushed against his chest softly. Giving it a pat, Sansa stated. “It’s a pretty picture.”

With that, she turned and headed back into the castle. Suha’s anger is thrumming through her bones, and Sansa can whole-heartedly agree with the castle. ‘ _Does that man not see the disgust she has for him? He must think that Cor’s fight with Arya might’ve sacred me away and tried to worm his way into my good graces, hoping to break them apart.’_

Shaking her head at the idiocy, she heads first to her sister’s room, knowing that is where Cor would place Arya. She doesn’t want to talk with her sister right now, still shaken by the threats her Arya threw at her, but it’s necessary. Lord Baelish was the one to somehow give Arya that letter, obviously trying to tear them apart, and Sansa won’t allow him to do it the way he did with their mother and aunt.

Stepping softly into the room, she spots Cor sitting on a chair by the bedside, arms folded. Looking up at her entrance, he flicked his eyes back to Arya, who is now awake, glaring at Sansa, expression promising death. Sansa took a cautious seat on her bed.

Taking a deep breath, Sansa stared at the fur blanket under her hand, softly petting it. Nervous, Sansa began. “Arya. I _don’t_ want us to fight. You are my _sister_ , and I _love you dearly._ I understand that we are two _very_ different people, with two _very_ different lives. And I want to clear up some misconceptions you have of me and my actions.” Flicking her eyes up to Arya, said girl has her arms folded, looking up at the ceiling, refusing to meet her gaze.

Sighing, Sansa admits. “I never _actually_ wanted to be queen. I thought that was something everyone wanted me to say, and what girl _doesn’t_ from time to time wish to have that status? And _don’t_ deny it, Arya.” She held her hand up at the open mouth protest Arya began, “You may _hate_ all the finery and manners, but you too would want that title if it meant that you could do what you wanted. After all, _who_ would stop the queen if she wished to fight?”

Wringing her hands, she finally reached the problem that still lies heavy on her heart and shoulders. “What I wanted was to _feel_ like part of the family. You all teased and _mocked_ me for my interests, and I never _truly_ felt welcomed by _any_ of you. I strived to be a lady because that was what was _demanded_ of my position as the eldest daughter of a powerful family. I also thought that if I was perfect enough for you all, Father wouldn’t play favourites with you. Mother, I loved her dearly and was closest to her, but she had _so much guilt_ , thinking that all her children were _never_ Stark enough because of their looks. I think she looked at me and my dreams, and was sad that I was naive enough to believe in songs. Never mind the fact that she _never_ tried to explain the realties of the world, just letting me sit in my daydreams.”

Her tears have finally welled up and began to leave tracks on her cheeks. Sniffling, Sansa continued, “I was taught by out septa that serving your husband and his family was the _greatest honour_ any wife could have, so _of course_ I tried to find the good in Joffrey. I wanted our marriage to be like mother and father’s.”

Wiping her eyes, which does nothing as they continue to flow, Sansa could hear her voice grow louder, anguished. “I was _grieving_ at King’s Landing. _I lost Lady!_ I _know_ I should’ve spoken up about the fight with Joffrey, and I’ve _regretted_ it ever since. And then, the only person who showed me _any_ kindness, was _Cersei_. And _yes_ , _now_ I know it was lies, but at the time I _didn’t_! I was a _child_ , who was _lonely_ , Arya.”

Bitterness seeps in between the cracks sadness had made. “Father _dotted_ on you, allowing you to learn to fight, and then turns around to buy me a doll even though I was too _old_ for them. It wasn’t that I was _ungrateful_. I was _angry_ because he _never_ paid any true attention to me and _my_ interests.” She confessed.

Taking the time to pause, to gather herself together a bit, Sansa chanced a glance up at her sister. Arya is staring wide-eyed, shocked at the emotional baggage she had just unloaded.

Licking her lips, Sansa whispered, “ _I loved him. I loved our family, and never think I didn’t._ But when father was going to take us away, I thought he was tearing apart _my future._ For my _whole_ life I was taught that marriage was the _only_ thing I was good enough for as a lady. And marrying a prince was the _highest achievement_ I could get from that future that was _made for me._ ”

Arya sat up a little, scooting forward on the bed. A little closer now, she took Sansa’s hand in hers. Giving a watery smile, Sansa took another deep breath. “I was _angry_ and _distraught_. I didn’t know why he was doing this so I panicked and went to the queen. I knew that after that, things weren’t right. But I _hoped_ that in getting Robb to swear fealty would get all of you out of King’s Landing alive. That things would be better.”

Looking down ashamed, she whispers, “ _I didn’t think he would actually kill father._ ”

After a pause, Sansa whispered, “He took me up onto the battlements.” Voice beginning to shake, remembering the horrifying and disgusting event. “He made me _stare_ at his _head_.” She spat out, “And I almost pushed him down the battlements, and I would’ve _happily_ fell with him, killing both of us. For years I was beaten. Called a traitor. Having traitor’s blood. And for every battle Robb won, _well_. I have all his battles memorised into my skin. I was surrounded by enemies. I couldn’t smile with out being attacked, physically or verbally. They spent everyday making me so _miserable_ , I thought of just _flinging_ myself out of my window so many times.”

In the heavy silence left behind her words, Arya squeezes Sansa’s hand. She finally speaks, hesitant. “Why _didn’t_ you push him?”

Giving a wet laugh at the question, Sansa explains, “The Hound stopped me.”

She made a face at the mention of the man, but nodded. Bringing her other hand up, Sansa gently placed it on her sister’s face, getting her to meet her eyes. This close, Sansa was able to see that no matter how much she was the spitting image of their father, Arya’s eyes had a little more blue in them than their father’s did.

“Arya. We will never fully agree on _everything_. But I _love_ this family. And I want _all of us_ to live and prosper. All this anger and grief you’re feeling, _don’t_ direct it onto me. You will not get any _true_ satisfaction. Direct that to our enemies. And know that if you _ever_ want to talk about all the terrifying things you went through whilst you were gone, I will be here to listen. I _know_ that you avoided talking about somethings. And I _know_ they still affect you now.”

Her wide eyes began to tear up. Flinging herself into Sansa’s arms, Arya promised, “Alright, Sansa. I will. And I’m sorry.”

Kissing her sister’s dark hair, Sansa apologises as well. “I’m sorry too.”

Things wouldn’t be perfect straight away, but they were now working together to improve their relationship.

That evening, all the lords and ladies were gathered in the hall, Sansa sitting at the head of the table. Arya hadn’t arrived yet, Cor bringing her in. To the right, she saw the way Lord Baelish watched the proceedings with hidden malicious joy.

As the doors opened, Arya coming in with Cor following behind, Sansa drew her blank mask on. When her sister stops in the middle of the hall, Cor carries on forward, coming to stand on Sansa’s right.

The cold but indifferent expression on her sister’s face is a far cry from the open vulnerability a hour before when in her chambers.

Looking around the large room, assessing everyone one in it, she turns back to Sansa. “Are you _sure_ you want to do this?” Confidence seeping from her voice.

Taking a deep breath, Sansa began the act. “It’s not what I _want_. It’s what honour _demands.”_

“And what _does_ honour demand?”

Keeping her tone strong, Sansa answered firmly, “That I defend my family from those who would harm us. That I defend _the North_ from those who would betray us.”

Shifting in place, Arya drawled, “Alright then. Get on with it.”

Straightening her shoulders, Sansa began to list the accusations. “You stand accused of murder. you stand accused of treason. How do you answer these charges...?”

Turning to the right wall, where he stands in the shadows, she finished. “... _Lord Baelish?_ ”

He froze in place. Confusion and uncertainty showing, he doesn’t answer right away, looking around the room. When he hesitated to speak, Arya innocently reminded him, “My sister asked you a question.”

His head snapped to her sister before floundering, his hoarse voice echoes in the quiet hall. “Queen Sansa, _forgive me_. I’m a little confused.”

Leaning forward in her seat, feigning confusion, she asked “Which charges confuse you?” Raising an eyebrow at the fear the flashed in his eyes, she continues. “Let’s start with the simplest one. You _murdered_ our aunt, Lysa Arryn. You _pushed_ her through the moondoor. Do you deny it?”

“I did it to _protect you._ ” He spoke as if it’s an appeal to her mercy, and not confessing to his crimes.

She corrected him matter-of-factly. “You did it to take _power_ in the Vale.” She pointed out. “Earlier you _conspired_ to murder Jon Arryn. You gave Lysa Tears of Lys to poison him. _Do you deny it?_ ” She asked again, terse.

Stepping further into the hall, placing himself in the centre of the stage, he speaks to the rest of the room. The confidence in his voice makes Sansa wonder at what lie or story he was concocting at that moment. “ _Whatever_ your aunt may have told you, she _was_ a troubled woman. She saw enemies everywhere.”

Raising her voice, she gave clarity to his lies, cutting him off from spinning more. “You had aunt Lysa send a letter to our parents telling them it was the Lannisters who murdered Jon Arryn, when _really_ it was _you_. The conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters, it was _you_ who started it. Do you deny it?”

“I know of no such letter.” He lies.

Informing more for the room than to placate to his lie, she asserted, “You _conspired_ with Cersei Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon to _betray_ our father, Lord Eddard Stark. _Thanks_ to your _treachery_ he was _imprisoned_ and then later _executed_ on _false charges of treason._ _Do you deny it?_ ”

“ _I deny it!_ ” He exclaims, finally showing his desperation. “ _None_ of you were there, to see what happened. None of you know the _truth_.” He was then turned away from her, looking at the rest of the occupants.

Cor’s voice cuts through, “You held a knife to his throat.” The guilty man stilled, stunned. “You said, ‘ _I did warn you not to trust me’._ ” Lord Baelish turned to look at Cor, disbelief and terror in his eyes, not knowing how Cor could have possibly knowed that. Sansa would be confused as well, if she didn’t already know that Cor summoned Gilgamesh an hour before the trail, needing information.

Arya then stepped forward, backing up Cor. “You told our mother that this knife belonged to Tyrion Lannister.” She pulls out the knife that she threw at Cor earlier, showing it to the lord. “But that was another one of your lies. It was _yours_.”

Looking up at her, eyes pleading, Lord Baelish implored, “Queen Sansa. I have known you since you were a little girl. I’ve _protected_ you-“

Interrupting, derisive at his words, Sansa spoke in disbelief. “-‘ _Protected me_ ’? By _selling me_ to the Boltons?”

He then came up to the table, leaning into her space and asked softly, desperate, “If we could speak _alone_ , I could explain _everything_.”

Leaning forward as well, she spoke equally soft. “I don’t think I will give you the _satisfaction_ of trying to worm your way out of this one. I’ve taught myself to assume the worst in any situation. I thought to myself: _What was the worst reason you have for turning me against my sister?_ That’s what you _do_. That’s what you’ve _always done_. Turn _family_ against _family_. Turn _sister_ against _sister_. That is what you _did_ with our mother and aunt. That’s what you _tried_ to do with us.” Her voice rose once more, anger coming through.

Distressed, he pleaded, “ _Sansa please_.”

She nodded to herself self-deprecating, and admitted out loud. “I’m a slow learner, it’s true. But I _learn_.”

Straightening up, he demanded, “At least give me a chance to defend myself. I _deserve_ that.”

Eyebrows rising in disbelief, she sat back, gesturing for him to try to get out of this one. He doesn’t though, going straight to Lord Royce and commanding the man:

“I am Lord Protector of the Vale and I _command_ you to escort me safely back to the Eyrie.”

Vicious satisfaction shows on the older man’s face as he refused firmly, “I think _not_.”

Panic on his face Lord Baelish whirls around, looking for any supporters, Finding none, he falls to his knees, his last option for survival. He begged, a good look on the man. “Sansa. _I beg you!_ I _loved_ your mother since the time I was a boy.”

Eyes narrowed, she challenged that. “ _And yet_ you betrayed her.”

Despair and entreating to her mercy, he confessed out loud, “ _I loved you._ More than _anyone_.” The piteous sound of desperation leaves his mouth, and Sansa delivered with satisfaction:

“ _And yet_ , you betrayed _me_.” She enunciates.

Standing up, trial now coming to an end, she reminded him, “When you brought me back to the North you told me that there was no justice in the world. Not unless we make it.”

Looking down at the pathetic man that had terrified and manipulated her for years, she uses her courtesies as a weapon, declaring, “ _Thank you_ for all your many lessons, Lord Baelish. I will _never_ forget them.” She finished sincerely.

Cor took that as his cue and strode forward, unsheathing his blade in one quick motion. The man tried to scramble up from his knelt position, but Cor was too quick. Swiftly, his blade plunged into the guilty man’s chest.

Cor stared into the black eyes, blocking Lord Baelish’s view from Sansa, not allowing her to be that last thing he saw. No. That would be Cor, looking down at the dying man, grim satisfaction reflected in his eyes will be the man’s last sight.

Lord Baelish then gasped Sansa’s name, to which Cor twisted his blade in the man’s heart, earning a satisfying intake of pain before he slumped, falling to the ground.

The slick sound of the blade exiting the body echoed in the hall, red blood gleaming off the metal and slowly dripping to the floor. Taking out a cloth from his pocket, Cor casually wiped the blood off of it, heading back to Sansa’s side whilst doing so.

There is a heavy silence in the hall as Sansa stood up and declared the trial over. Cor began to gather a few men to collect the body and burn it. Passing by him, Lord Royce slapped a firm hand on his shoulder, gratitude seen plainly in the older man’s eyes.

Over seeing the clean up, Cor caught the eye of Stannis, who was observing the trial from the back of the hall. Quirking an eyebrow in question, the man just stared back, face in it’s usual grim but indifferent expression. Then, after a parting nod, he took his leave with the rest of the observers.

“ _I think everyone is even more terrified of you than they were before._ ” Is the teasing whisper of Luka in his ear. Swatting playfully at the other boy’s face, Luka gave a wiry grin in return, dancing out of the way.

“Stop playing around, idiot. We have a body to burn.” Cor barked, though a grin played on his face as well.

“Nothing builds friendship like getting rid of a body.” Theon muttered, lifting Lord Baelish’s legs. Talbert then enters into the empty hall with a wheel barrel, which had Luka sighing in relief, having grabbed the top end of the dead man.

“Thank the gods. This man is surprisingly heavy.” He complained, causing Talbert to snigger.

“Dead bodies tend to do that.” Cor remarked, helping to dump the body into the wheel barrel. Once in, the four all meander out of the hall, walking through Winterfell, passing onlookers casually. At the draw bridge, Cor gave a greeting wave to the guards as they step onto the wooden walkway.

Stopping by the outer wall, they dump the dead body and Luka bent down to spark the flints. Slowly, the man’s black tunic dress thingy lights fire, catching the actually body a little after. It takes awhile, making Cor inwardly bemoan at the lack of gasoline.

But once it’s large enough, all the guys were screwing up their noses at the smell of burning flesh. Shivering, Cor stares into the bright orange flames for a second and then decided to hold out his hands, warming them.

Talbert let out a huff of amusement, running a hand through his auburn curls, and then soon the other three were joining in, all warming up their own cold hands.

“At least he was useful for _something_.” Theon joked, and Luka’s head flies back, his laughter filling the air around, almost hysterical at their predicament. It’s not often you talk casually over a recently deadman’s body. Cor grinned in response.

Sighing Talbert admitted a few moments later, “Queen Sansa was _fucking_ terrifying.” As one, they all nod in solemn agreement, pride filling Cor’s chest.

Two days later Ser Daavos, and as many blacksmiths as they can allow, leave with Lord Manderly and his men, heading to White Harbour. Cor watched their retreating backs on the battlements, a little relieved that the numbers Winterfell was having to provide for went down, even if it was only a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First up, a notice. I will be updating the chapters I have so far because I do believe I will be able to finish the rest of the story before September. So Chapters 30-34, will be added with in the next day or so. I’m on 35, and I have the rest of the chapters planned. The end is in sight my friends! However, those last few chapters may be so in updating, because, as you know if you saw the note, I will be doing the inktober challenge! SanCor goodness for an entire month! All the prompts are planned out, so they should come out relatively quick. 
> 
> Now onto the actual chapter. You will definitely notice that the conversation with Arya and Sansa is from the show. It’s the two main ones mushed together. That is because the dialogue was genuinely intense and good. Now, y’all thought Arya was all fine and dandy, but she really isn’t. Her grief is still there, and she hasn’t had anytime to truly work through it. On the road, survival was first. In Braavos, she was told to not be anyone, so once again, no true grieving. Originally I wanted Arya to have an actual conversation with Sansa about it, but then I thought, That the scene in the show was not just for Lord Baelish to think he was winning. I think she was genuinely upset at this perceived betrayal and found that as a good excuse to lash out and hurt Sansa. So I took that, and ran with it. Now, they are onto some actual healing
> 
> As well as the conversation and trial with Baelish, also from the show, but that last bit tweaked because he never actually told her that thing about, ‘sometimes a think the worst.’ But hurray! He is gone now!
> 
> Also, canon changes because i said so. Oberyn didn’t die, thus his paramour didn’t get bad writing and kill off his family. And honestly, after watching so many incompetent rulers, twyin realistically should’ve taken the throne. 
> 
> And then Cor gets a new friend in his circle, Talbert! You may recognise him as the guy who teased Cor in the 28th chapter I believe. Also, did some hella research on Arya’s fighting style and on swords in general. An analyse guy talks about how her sword is similar to the ones in the Napoleon wars, and that they really weren’t for cutting, only fencing styled fights. Cor ain’t dissing her, he is just observing the facts. In the first season, Arya’s teacher had her use a wooden practise broad sword, very different to her Needle. So her style isn’t correct to her sword. Plus, she wouldn’t have that much training on the run and during her time at Kings Landing. Also, in her fight with Brienne, she uses a training sword, but arya doesn’t.
> 
> Me:I’ve done so much god damn research, will this ever be useful outside of this story?  
> Also me: I’ll just pepper this in any conversation i have.
> 
> Also, am i making Cor too OP? Believe me, in canon, he is one of the best fighters, i promise! But like, outside of combat, he ain’t that good at social interaction and a lot of other things.  
> That is all! I will be updating tomorrow! Until next time!


	31. Newcomers and reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Podrick have arrived!

Sansa watched from an overhead balcony as Cor trained Arya. There was some grousing on Arya's end, but eventually she gave in and ‘ _allowed_ ’ Cor to train her. He took her snark in good humour, but he focused on her training seriously. He pushed her hard, leaving her exhausted by the end of the day. Cor reasoned that if he kept her focused on training and tiring herself out, she would feel less angry.

And Sansa had noticed a difference in her sister. Only a week after she started training, the rage that had been festering in Arya's chest slowly seemed to die down. When Sansa tried to reach out for it, she felt the hollow, empty magic of the Faceless Men dwindling like drops of water dripping out of a cup. It was slow going, but Sansa had hope for her sister.

Arya had always wanted to be taken seriously in her wish to train with a sword, and Cor provided that. Something no else really had, especially their father. He gave her a teacher in Kings Landing, that is true. But this time, she knows that the training is permanent and not a secret. He also had her practicing drills and training with the other female soldiers, though it looked as if some of those women were now slowly being integrated with the men, since they were up to the physical standards that Cor deemed is necessary. Mya was one of them, and she _gleefully_ fought with the other soldiers in the sparring ring, bashing them over their heads with her practise war hammer.

Sansa watched, amused, as Cor swept her sister off her feet, _again_. And when she heared the rattling of a maester’s chains, she looked towards that direction to see Maester Wolkan coming up the steps. Though he is still a skittish man, he has so far shown good loyalty, and perhaps that is because she is certainly less terrifying than the Boltons were to their people. In his hand was a scroll, seal unbroken.

Taking it from his hands, she stared down at the seal of the Night’s Watch for a moment before she broke it to read the contents. She feared that the Night King had already arrived too soon.

Instead, she was relieved that it was just Jon, writing about how he, some men, and Free folk are heading back past the Wall on boats, to pick up more Free folk. He said the journey should take anywhere from three weeks to perhaps a month, depending on any obstacles they meet along the way.

She bit her lip as she worried for him and the men. Hoping that they returned safely, she nodded in thanks to Maester Wolkan, and headed back inside. On the way to her solar, she met up with Jeyne, as the other girl had been coming to find her and inform her about Stannis’ men and how they were healing.

“We must start producing more bandages and medicinal supplies. Both for how our stores have dwindled and because of the oncoming war.”

Sansa nodded seriously, “We will have to speak with the washers, see if there is any spare linens we could use. As for medicine, do you have a list of all the things required?”

Handing a sheet of paper over, obviously having predicted that question, Jeyne held the door to the solar open as Sansa looked the list over. Settling down in her chair, Sansa continued to read as Jeyne pulled up another chair next to her and together they bowed their heads over scrolls and numbers.

They worked through their paperwork for maybe an hour before a knock startled them out of a spirited debate about how much produce the glasshouses were making. Looking up, Sansa watched as Jeyne stood up and answered the door.

It was Ellina.

The blonde’s hair was tied back with the headpiece Sansa had made for and she entered the room with a smile and a tray of food.

“Delivery! Beth mentioned ya would be ‘old up in ‘ere, goin’ over numbers.” The cheery voice had Sansa smiling, loving her friends enthusiasm. Despite wearing breeches under a long tunic, looking far from the dress-wearing servant, Ellina was still very much the same girl Sansa met in the Eyrie. Her sword sat proudly on her waist as she shut the door with a kick, and walked over to them.

Sansa and Jeyne quickly moved some papers so there is room for the tray. A steaming plate of bread with two bowls of stew had Sansa’s mouth watering, no matter how simplistic the dish seemed.

A few months back when she took back Winterfell, she put a decree that everyone would be getting similar food, even nobles. No feasts or over indulgence was allowed considering how tightly they were rationing food stores to begin with. With that rule in place, it gave them time to grow and prepare more food when the war begins.

Digging in, Ellina sat on the corner of the desk and started to ramble about the happenings around the castle that weren't deemed important enough by Beth and as such, Sansa hadn't heard yet. Relieved to have a break from pouring over numbers that were making her head spin, Sansa happily sat back and listened to the gossip.

It was during Ellina’s over the top description of how one of the washer women had been flirting with the black smith, Cal, that the door opened again. Cor strolled in, shirt dusty from training, and informed them, “A knight and her squire are here to talk with you Sansa.”

“‘ _Her_?’” Ellina parrots, confused.

It took her a second but then Sansa’s eyes widened, realising who he is referring to. On her way to the North with Lord Baelish, a female knight had come to her, speaking of a promise made to her mother. Sansa hadn't been eager to trust the woman though, as she had never met her and the words Lord Baelish had spoken cautioned her. She knew he didn’t want her to leave with a woman who could easily kill him, but he was a _familiar_ evil.

Sitting back, rubbing her finger over her lip in thought, she nodded to Cor. “Let them in.” Giving her a short bow, he left. Jeyne began to gather the papers, organising them into piles and placing a book from her shelf over the top of them, covering them from view.

“Do you want me to leave?” Her dearest friend asked softly, to which Sansa shook her head in the negative.

“Not unless you have something important to be doing.”

Jeyne stayed.

When Brienne and her squire entered after Cor minutes later, Jeyne stood on Sansa's left, with Ellina standing next to her. Cor then came around the women and took his place against the wall behind her right shoulder, leaning back causally.

Hands folded on her desk, she watched as the two bowed deeply.

Standing stiff, hands behind her back, the Lady Knight announced, “Queen Sansa. It is good to see you home and safe.”

Offering a small bow of her head, Sansa smiled politely, “Thank you, lady Brienne.”

In the same, loud and formal tone, Brienne declared, “I’ve come to serve you as your swornsword, as I’ve done with your mother.”

The older woman moved to kneel but Sansa stopped her, hand held up. “ _Thank you_ for your loyalty and offer, but I already have a Shield.” Here she waved to Cor, who met Brienne’s eyes with casual interest.

Ever so slightly, Brienne's eyes narrowed, assessing Cor. “ _I see_.”

“You are welcome to join my army though.” Sansa offered kindly, not wanting the woman to have travelled this far for nothing. “There is a war coming in the North, and I could use all the skilled fighters I need.”

Stiffly, she nodded, “Very well, your grace.” Obviously not too pleased with her intended role being taken already.

“Will your squire be willing to join the army too?” Cor asked.

Now paying attention to the nervous boy behind the large woman, Sansa's eyes lit up with recognition. “You were Tyrion Lannisters’ man. I remember you,” Sansa recalls.

In an instant Cor and Ellina were on guard at the name of Sansa’s previous husband. Podrick and Brienne stepped back, wary, at the sudden change in the room’s atmosphere and the defensive guards. Brienne even laid a hand on the hilt of her sword, ready to draw it. However, Sansa was relaxed, as she waved the two to stand down.

Looking between her two guards, Podrick nervously nodded, confirming her observation. “Yes, your grace.”

“And how did you come to be in her services?” Sansa queried.

Shuffling his feet, he answered, “I heard she was looking for you, and hoped that in finding you, I would find Lord Tyrion again. You see, when he left King’s Landing after being cleared from his trial, he had left me behind. I had thought he had gone to find you, as you were married. When I found Brienne, she allowed me to travel with her, and soon I became her squire.”

She contemplated his story for a second, observing the squire. Leaning back in her seat, she offered, “I see. Well, I remember you as a kind boy, Podrick. And I hope you do my memory justice in your stay here.”

“ _Th-thank you, your grace!_ ” The open excitement and relief on his face had Sansa softening. He was kind to her when she was in King’s Landing- nothing like his cousin. Podrick was more afraid of her than she was of him, always turning red and stuttering when she spoke to him.

His honest behaviour and habit of wearing his emotions on his sleeve, had Sansa sensing that he will cause her no trouble.

Better yet, no _lies_.

Turning to Ellina, she said, “Could you show these two to the barracks please?” Nodding, the blonde girl left, gesturing for the two to follow. Brienne seemed to hesitate, eyes landing on Cor before following, Podrick on her heels.

The barracks were large, though not as filled as they were before the wars. Since women were joining the army, she had part of the quarter designated for the women. She had Suha, then only known as ‘ _The Castle’_ , keep an metaphorical eye on the women. She didn’t want any violence coming from the men, and the castle was happy to keep. There was only one incident where a drunken soldier tried to break in. According to his drunken, frightened ramblings, the walls moved, cutting off any passage ways to the women’s quarters.

Cor had fun running that man into the dirt as punishment. The soldier learnt his lesson, and no one had tried anything after that.

Looking over at said boy, she cocked an eyebrow at his tense posture. Huffing he muttered, “Should we trust a boy that was under the Lannister’s thumb?”

She shrugged, “I don’t like Tyrion anymore than you do. Though out of all of them, he _was_ the kindest.”

Looking tired, he muttered, “ _That’s_ not saying much.”

Sighing, she started to put away the inkwell and quill. “ _True_. But I stand by my decision. Podrick is a good man. I obviously won’t trust him with anything important. However, his openness makes it easy to read for any lies. And it’s best to keep him close instead of sending him away.”

Grumbling, he conceded, “Fine. I won’t like it. But I will keep an eye on him. _And_ Brienne.”

Resting her cheek on her palm, she teased, “You sound almost _jealous_ , Cor. Unhappy at her trying to take your job?”

He narrowed his eyes at her and Jeyne took that as her cue to leave the room, leaving the paper work behind to collect later. Sansa barely noticed, too focused on the heated look in her loves eye’s.

Stepping forward, placing one hand on the desk by her elbow, and the other on the back of her chair, he leaned close into her space. Warm breath brushing her face he murmured fiercely, “Not to sound possessive, but you are _mine_ to protect. She didn’t train with a god surrounded by the _stench_ of decaying bodies for months _for you_.”

Humming, stomach tightening at his possessive behaviour, not at all indignant or annoyed, she leaned forward and captured his lips with hers. He lets out a muffled groan and pressed harder, hands coming up to cup her cheeks. Her own arms are thrown around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. Hand running through his now shorter hair, she sighed with contentment.

Later, after Cor extracted himself from Sansa’s embrace, he left to check in on the two new-comers. Running his hand through his hair, remembering the phantom sensations of Sansa’s fingers, he tried to make it look like he didn’t just have a make-out session with his queen. From Talbert’s suggestive wink when he passed by him, he wasn’t convincing anyone.

Sighing in frustration, he snatched Talbert’s arm before he is too far out of reach, turning the other boy around. Talbert is a gangly man, only 17, with a face full of freckles, but decently good looking and great at throwing axes for some reason. The boy argued that he will fill out and become more muscled like his Skagosi father.

Cor wasn’t convinced.

“Talbert, I have a job for you.” He began.

The boy perked up, “Are we burning another body? Do you need me to get the wheel barrel again?”

Huffing in amusement, Cor quirked a small smile at his friend. “Regrettably no. We have a newbie for you to show around.”

Slumping, Cor finally let go of the boy’s arm now that he is following after him. “ _Ugggh_ , Commander why?” he whined, which was music to Cor’s ears.

Giving him a stern look, Cor informed him, “Because he is from the south and served under Tyrion Lannister.”

Straightening, he quickly sobered up from his joking manner, Talbert gazing at Cor steadily, “Is he a threat?”

Proud at how quick the boy was to be on the defence, ready for any attack, Cor shook his head. “No. But I just want you to keep an eye on him is all. I have my hands full with the princess, Stannis, his wife, and priestess. I need someone I can trust, but _not_ make it too obvious.” Cor gave him a pointed look.

Talbert doesn’t see it though, busy rubbing at his chin in over-exaggerated thought, “So a _secret_ mission?”

Giving him a condescending pat on the shoulder, Cor dead-panned, “ _Sure_ , if it makes you feel better. A _super secret_ mission.”

Face lighting up, Talbert declared, “ _Nice_.”

Rolling his eyes in fond amusement, they neared the barracks, almost running into Ellina as she exited.

“Hey, Commander. Did ya want ta give ‘em a run down on how it all works?”

Grunting in confirmation, he continued to walk, “With Brienne, yes. I figured Talbert would be happy enough with Podrick.”

“ _Ohhh_ , tryin’ stake yer claim?” She elbowed him in the side, grin wide against her face. Pushing her face away with his hand, Cor entered the barracks, heading to the female side of it. He passed a couple of other women soldiers, all of whom gave him nods in greeting.

Reaching the door, he knocked first, waiting for another to open. Mya’s head appeared in the open crack of the door. “Password?” She teased.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he groused, “Unless someone is indecent, open the _fucking_ door.”

She barked a laugh before answering, “Oh _none_ of us decent here, Commander,” she said with a lascivious wink, before granting him entrance.

‘ _For fucks sake_ ,’ Cor, internally exasperated, sighed, ‘ _I give these people too much lenience._ ’

Cor didn’t _want_ too much formality between him and his soldiers. Casual in a non-formal setting was one thing he was okay with, unlike a lot of lords here. If he is doing something wrong, he _wants_ someone to point it out. He said so on his first days as Commander. Being personable with his soldiers had allowed for closer bonds to be built, and for his soldiers to trust him more.

But _sometimes_ the teasing is just a little bit tiring. However, it was either that, or having them be absolutely terrified of him. Not like they weren’t already, but it took a serious setting for them to remember that. Most of the time, he is just their very young, but very experienced Commander.

Who was _also_ dating their Queen.

Stepping into the women’s quarters, he found Lyn showing Brienne her bed as well as a trunk at the foot of it for her things. Walking towards them he passed a girl, maybe a year or two older than him, who mockingly covered her already covered chest.

Not even looking her way he dead-panned, “Ava, you were a prostitute. I _really_ don’t think you care if a man sees your breasts.”

“It’s the _notion_ of it all, Commander.” She pouted, teasing.

“I _see_ your vocabulary lessons are going well, Ava.” He shot over his shoulder, before stopping in front of Brienne. The tall woman looked down at him, a furrowed brow showing either her displeasure in seeing him or just her confusion.

“ _You_ are the Commander?”

“That I am. Cor Leonis,” he replied as he had not been able to introduce himself when they were in Sansa’s solar.

Nodding, she returned the greeting, “I am Brienne of Tarth.”

Nodding, he waved his hand, “Walk with me.” He then turned and exited the room, not waiting for her response. Okay so maybe he was being a bit of an asshole, but the way she just presumed to be Sansa’s Shield without even asking irked him. But by the sound of her heavy foot steps and clattering of armour, she had followed him.

“So you may notice that we have woman in the army.” Cor began.

Frowning, she stated the affirmative, musing out loud, “Yes, I thought that quite strange.”

He shrugged, “I don’t give a shit about gender roles. If you can fight, and wish to fight, then you can join the army. I don’t allow favouritism, nor exclusion. I’m building up an army that focuses on teamwork and being able to trust each other’s backs when the war comes.”

Blinking owlishly down at him, she asked unsure, “The war, with the Lannisters?”

Inwardly grinning, loving this bit the most, he kept his face dead-serious as he intoned, “No. The undead.”

She stopped short, looking perplexed, uncertain if he is joking. Pretending not to see her confusion, he continued to walk, listening to her hurry to catch up from her stunned position. “Moving on. I assume physically you are up to par. But I still will have you run some tests to see if you are. There is a disparity between a lot of the soldiers. Because the females started late, they have been more focused on getting their abilities up to speed.”

She cut in, irritation in her voice. “So you are _excluding_ them from the men.”

“ _No_. If they instantly joined the men, it would be obvious that they were less capable in a fight, but-”

Cutting him off again- and Cor suddenly starts to understand why Gil kept getting frustrated at him for doing that- Brienne protests, “ _But that isn’t their fault!_ They weren’t trained early like _them_.”

Stopping short and wheeling around to fix a stern glare on the woman, he growled out, “ _And if you listen, you would understand at what I’m trying to get at._ ” Looking chastised, she waited for him to continue. Appeased, he elaborated on his reasonings, “Because of the different ability levels, the woman are trained separate. And then when they meet the requirement of the men, who have had far longer to train, they join the men. They will then learn how to work with teams or pairs. They will learn military tactics and strategy, putting them through test runs and examples on different battle formations and their pros and cons. They are need to be as equal in fighting ability as possible. If the women joined right away they could be discouraged by the better ability of the men. The men could also look down and bully the females for not keeping up. I separated them so they could learn the best as possible without infighting. _Understand_?” He barked, eyebrow quirking.

“I understand.” She confirmed.

“ _Good_.”

As they continue to walk across the courtyard, he passed by King Stannis. Giving a short bow, Cor kept moving to the great hall to show to Brienne. But the scratching sound of sword being drawn has him turning quickly, looking for the threat.

Instead he found Brienne standing in front of Stannis, sword held up to the man’s neck. The pure malice on her face had him drawing the Genji blade in response, and pointing it at her.

“Brienne,” he barked out, “ _Stand down.”_ The commanding voice left no room for argument. It’s the same voice he uses on his troops when they are disobeying an order. From the corner of his eye, he saw how some soldiers and guards nearby froze at his voice. 

Brienne ignored him though, not knowing the punishment that will come from her disobeying him and threatening another. It could also be because she had never been in a military setting often. “He _murdered_ King Renly! His younger brother, the true King of the Seven Kingdoms,” she yelled, eyes never wavering from the man. Stannis himself looked unbothered by the very sharp blade by his throat, more annoyed than anything. But he is resting his hand on his hilt, ready to fight back if need be.

“Do you have _proof_?” Cor asked.

Turning to him, Brienne exclaimed, “ _He used dark magic to kill him. I saw it!_ ” Cor stilled at her claim, eyes shifting to Stannis. There is a strange flicker in his eyes, something Cor can’t identify. Looking around the courtyard, he spots the red woman, not too far from the scene. Her usual smug and mysterious expression had him frowning.

“It was your priestess, _wasn’t it?_ ” Cor stated. Both Stannis and Brienne turn to him, Stannis looking a little shocked at him figuring that out, where as Brienne looks triumphant.

Straightening up, she began to announce, “I would have you executed in the name of Renly Baratheon, King of-“

“ _Wait_ , hold on.” Cor interrupted. She looked frustrated at that, turning blazing blue eyes at him.

Frowning he comments, confused, “I thought, that _Stannis_ was older than his brother?”

“I am. Renly was the youngest of the three of us.” Stannis confirmed, looking awkward because of this entire situation. His eyes darted around the courtyard, finally noticing the onlookers.

Scratching his head, Cor continued to question out loud, “So, _why_ would he be the true king? Don’t you have inheritance laws or something that states it’s the eldest to the youngest in terms of succession?”

Brienne floundered at his question and Stannis looked smug. Taking a deep breath, Cor breathed out in aggravation, “We _do not_ have time for this, _both of you_. Stannis, you killed your brother with magic for a throne. That was _disgusting_ and _immoral_ of you. Brienne. I _understand_ you are hurt by the loss of your king, but right now, you _can’t_ kill him. You may try _after_ the war. Until then,”

He moved, lighting quick. Brienne didn’t have enough time to react, trying to parry his strikes, before he disarmed her. The sword landed a few feet away from her, and Luka, who was watching this whole time -along with a plenty of other workers- reached down and picked it up.

“You are on probation when it comes to weapons. Training swords only unless there is an attack.”

“You-you _can’t_ do that!?” Brienne argued, a little shocked at his sudden and quick attack. He raised an eyebrow at her indignation.

“ _Can’t I?_ ” Sending one last warning look at the both of them, he strode away, heading to Luka. Said boy was looking down at the sword in awe.

Bemused, Cor raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to follow as Cor headed back to Sansa. “This is valerian steel!” The other boy crowed in excitement.

“Really? That’s useful.” He remarked. Allowing the other boy’s chatter wash over him as they walk, Cor thought on what Brienne had said. ‘ _Dark magic._ ’ He mused, having figured out that Melisandre could use some kind of magic, but something that killed a man? He would have to ask her, if she was willing to answer.

Knocking on Sansa’s door, he stepped inside, seeing her at the desk still. Looking up from her papers, she smiled, but sends him a questioning look at seeing Luka and the sword.

“Just had to separate Brienne from killing Stannis. Apparently he killed Renly with dark magic via red priestess.” Cor reported, sounding formal but the report was actually very informal. He had learnt that having a close relationship with his ruler allowed him to not have to stand on formality so much. It could also be her lack of familiarity with military structure and procedures as well. She stilled, looking a little wide eyed, but nodded in understanding.

Looking over at Luka, she asked, “And the sword?”

“Her’s.” Cor replied, “I confiscated it. Hopefully she won’t try anything again.”

“It’s valerian steel, your grace!” Luka announced, almost bouncing in place in amazement.

Getting up, Sansa manoeuvred around to look at it. Her hands grace the blade lightly, as she murmured, “This was part of Ice.”

“Your ancestral sword?”

Nodding, entranced by the blade, she softly confirms, “Yes. Four hundred years ago it was forged and my family has had it since.”

Peering at her contemplatively, he murmured,“Well, that’s part one of two. Just need the other and we could reforge it.”

She hummed, more focused on the sword, which she had gently taken from Luka’s hand; Holding it in the proper grip, which of course she remembered. He hadn't spent hours teaching her how to cut a man’s head off only for her to forget. Looking back up at them, her eyes a little watery, she smiled in thanks.

Going over to her bookshelf, she sat it on one of the shelves, lying flat in front of the books and scrolls. “She may get it back for the war. But _after_ , it will be returned to me.” Sansa softly declared, still looking at the sword.

Luka took that as his cue and left, bowing low. Cor nodded to him in thanks and moved over to Sansa as the door clacked shut. Reaching out, he grasped her hand in his, tight and comforting.

Another week passed, and Sansa had called Arya and Lord Royce into her solar. She had no guards for the moment- they were all busy with training. Most of the women have been announced as physically fit enough to join the men, so the army was now one.

It’s feels as if now, that they are all together, Cor had upped his training, running them into the ground every other day. On the days that he doesn’t, they are in the great hall going over battle manoeuvres and formations. Sansa took a peek in there once, and saw the way all the tables were pushed to be lined up, facing one of the longer sides of the hall and standing at the front, was Cor. He had a massive piece of slate balanced on a table and some chalk.

All the arrows and squares on the slate had her figuring he was teaching them with diagrams, but trying to understand them had her head hurting a little. All the soldiers though were listening intently, some even asked questions. Cor was endlessly patient with all of them, and she heard the She-wolves discussing techniques with serious interest after the lessons. Shae had even been sitting in on them too, even though she isn’t part of the army.

Back to the present, she had Lord Royce and Arya sitting across from her, and Sansa was wary about how her sister would react.

“Arya. I’m just going to be blunt. I have arranged your marriage.” Sansa kept her voice calm and posture open, not putting on her queenly mask that she used in court. She needed to be Arya’s sister as well for this discussion.

Arya doesn’t take the announcement well, standing up in shock, spluttering, “ _What!? Sansa-_ “

Holding up a hand, she pleaded, “Arya. _Please_ let me explain.”

They stared at one another, Arya looking furious and ready to draw her blade. But Sansa wanted to handle this like mature people, and doesn’t rise in angry defence. Surprisingly though, Arya didn't continue to yell and argue, she just sat back down, mutinously.

Letting out a soft breath of relief, Sansa began to explain, “You will be marrying our cousin, Robyn Arryn, Lord of the Vale. But it won’t be _until_ you are eighteen, I promise. You are both of the same age, and he _is_ a good boy.” Sansa reassured Arya.

Lord Royce also joined in, specifically for this purpose of soothing Arya’s worries and providing Sansa support in this decision. “Princess. I understand that you are against this idea, and I will admit that Lord Robyn can be, _difficult_. However, I have had reports that in the past months since his mother’s death, he has grown and matured. Though of course there is still room to grow.”

Mouth floundering, Arya turned back to her, begging, “Sansa, you _can’t_!”

Closing her eyes, Sansa tries to stay strong in the face of her upset sister. This discussion could make or break their fragile relationship, and Sansa has been dreading bringing up this betrothal. When Arya had returned, Sansa knew that she would have to be marrying someone, and with her promise to Lord Royce on making a stronger alliance, this was the most preferred option. “Arya. After the war, I wanted to offer you the chance to visit the Eyrie, and get to know our cousin.”

“ _But what about my training_!?” She demanded, hiding her fear under rage.

Smiling a bit in amusement on Arya’s main focus, she reassured her. “You will still be able to practise your sword skills, I won’t have that taken from you.”

Lord Royce then drew her sister’s attention back to him, “And you will find, Princess, that since your sister visited, there have been movements of the women demanding more rights in their lives. You will be married, _yes_. As that is your duty as a princess and noble lady. But you will _still_ have the freedom to wield a sword, and, _gods have mercy,_ wear _breeches_.” That last part has him sighing, aggrieved at the changes that were causing him stress.

Lord Royce, is a very adaptable man, but there were still some things that bothered him. The women in the Eyrie now wearing breeches was one of them.

“We only ask that you at least are willing to wear a dress for your wedding and some formal occasions.” She bargained, knowing that there are times where it will be inappropriate for her sister to run about in her usual clothes.

Looking between the two of them, unsure, she quietly asked, “Do I get a _choice_?”

Lord Royce and her meet eyes, and he nods, acquiescing.

Licking her lips, she tries to find a balance between Lord Royce and Arya’s wants. She can’t say ‘ _yes_ ’, because that would be a lie. Saying ‘ _no_ ’ would have Arya growing angry at lacking a choice.

Slowly, picking her words carefully, Sansa began, “As someone of such high station, you can’t do any better than him. But, if your _truly_ don’t want to marry him, we can find an alternative. This _isn’t_ just about trying to marry you off though, Arya. This is about creating an _alliance_ for the good of the North. The Vale rode for me, but we need to secure a deeper alliance than just friendship.”

Looking up, imploringly, Arya confirmed, “So I don’t have to marry until I’m eighteen?”

Sansa nodded solemnly, “When we win the war, you will visit the Vale after, and get to know him. And I mean, _really try_ Arya,” she beseeched her sister, knowing she is conniving enough to make the meetings terrible just so she wouldn’t have to marry.

Arya heard the unsaid command and nodded.

“...Could I take Gendry with?” She then asked, hesitantly, hopefully.

Blinking at the question, Sansa confirmed it’s the person she is thinking of. “The blacksmith?”

Nodding frantically, Arya bargained, “He’s my _friend_! He is _really_ good at his job, so he could help!”

‘ _She’s good_ ,’ Sansa thought with tired amusement. ‘ _Using my own wish for Arya to be happy against me, AND making him useful and a benefit for the Vale._ ’

Looking at Lord Royce, she offered, “We will think on it.”

Nodding, sitting back satisfied, Arya pondered out loud. “Alright. What about you?”

“What do you mean?” Taken off guard a little at the change of topic.

She shrugged, “Who are you marrying for your alliance?”

The glint in her sister’s eye told Sansa that she knew exactly who Sansa will be marrying. Instead of giving in though, she answers with more in depth information than necessary.

“As a queen, I can not marry anyone of high ranking, as the nobles would fear him taking over the kingdom. He would have to marry into our family, not the other way around. They would have to deal with the knowledge that they would never be king. A Queen Consort would be the title. So a minor lord or a third son.”

“Or a Commander?” Arya asked cheekily.

Narrowing her eyes, Sansa replied. “... _yes_. Or a Commander.”

Arya leaves shortly after that, flouncing out like she didn’t just get betrothed, leaving just Sansa and Lord Royce in the room, feeling exhausted from dealing with her.

“I do believe she _likes_ the blacksmith,” Lord Royce grumbled, a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

Sansa sighed in agreement, rubbing at her temples. “ _Unfortunately_ yes.”

Pining her a with a firm look, Lord Royce stated, “If this betrothal works out, your grace. I _won’t_ have bastard children as the next Lord of the Vale.”

Meeting him just as serious, she nodded in agreement. “I understand that, my lord. If it truly does seem to get in the way of the marriage, we will have to find a solution. But for now, she is _still young_. Any thoughts of laying with a man will not be there for her.”

And then, before he can reply, her door swung open, revealing Beth. Her brown hair was a mess and her face was flushed like she had been running. As she goes to speak, Suha suddenly _sings_ loud into her soul. It’s the same sound as when Arya and herself had returned home.

Shooting up from her seat, anticipation and joy buzzing through her, she and Beth locked eyes.

“ _Rickon_.” Beth breathed.

By the time she had hurried down the front steps of the castle, Arya was already hugging Rickon in the middle of the courtyard, both rejoicing that they are reunited again. Hearing her approach, her sister pulled away a bit to reveal their youngest brother. He had grown some since she had last seen him, now standing jus above Sansa’s hip. He was covered in furs, dressed like a Free folk, which would make sense with the Free folk woman standing not too far from him, as well as the large, dark form of Shaggydog.

His red hair was a riot of curls, and he looked up at Sansa, wide-eyed. In an instant he bolted to her side, almost tackling her to the ground from how fierce his hug was. Crying out her name, he nuzzled his face into her stomach. Wrapping her own arms around him, Sansa fell to her knees in the courtyard, now able to hold him tighter. He would be six or seven now, but he was still so small in her arms.

She felt another person join in on the hug, and Sansa opened an arm to grab Arya in. She held both her siblings tightly, overjoyed with tears falling from her eyes. Looking up from her siblings she met the Free folk woman’s eyes, and mouth a heart felt ‘ _Thank you’_. The woman gave Sansa a hesitant smile in return and bowed awkwardly, unused to the gesture.

Around them, Suha sung and cried with happiness, _euphoric_ at the return of another Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I only just researched that Ice wasn’t always in the Stark family. It was forged in Essos somewhere and a Stark got hold of it ages ago. So in one of the earlier chapters, Sansa said to Gil and Cor that it’s been in her family for way longer than it actually was, I will go back to fix that.
> 
> Also last chapter was like, 16 pages on my word doc. I don’t think i will ever write anything that long ever again. My dudes, it took ages to fucking italic words, and i wont stop using italics because I’m a basic bitch who likes Emphasis. And chapters should be every day until I get to chapter 35, and then they will so down. But we are gettingto the main meet of the story! So good shit ahead! 
> 
> Brienne, I don’t truly know how i feel about her. Interesting character, but her honour and almost naive arrogance sometimes annoys me. Also, leaving Sansa in the very last episode to be a knight? Not the loyalty she claims to have, just saying. I also think that she hasn’t ever been trained in a proper military setting. Trained to fight, yes. But actual chain of command? Most likely not. As Renly’s shield she was more body guard than soldier. At the end of the show, her becoming the commander of the kings guard was not the best decision. Just because you can fight doesn’t mean you can lead as well.
> 
> Also, Arya took her betrothal well because, one, she has begun to learn her father wasn’t perfect. And two, sansa isn’t making her stop sword fighting like Ned would. Sansa knows how to make concessions, and that if she wants this alliance, allowing her sister to continue to fight is the best way possible. Also, Robyn will be hella swooning when he sees her fight. 
> 
> Yay! Rickon is back! 
> 
> Until next time! Thank you for reading


	32. Communion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are starting to be made, and Sansa sees the ghost of Christmas past and scares the shit out of Cor

_3 months later._

Standing in front of a large table, Jon Snow and the three other high ranking men of the Night’s Watch, along with Tormund and some free folk, Lord Royce, and King Stannis, listen to Cor set out the plan.

“It’s more than likely that the Night King and his army will be heading to this Castle, mainly because it has a much larger gate for his army to breech and funnel through. So we will set up the main defences here. I don’t _really_ expect him to try and go through the other castles, expecting his overwhelming numbers to be enough. However, if it turns out he _does_ send a small portion of his army to other castles, there isn’t much we can do about that but hope that those staying in Winterfell will take care of them.” Cor gestures to the map on the table, “All settlements and small folk between Winterfell and the Wall will be evacuated south. They will either be brought to Torrhen’s square, where the mountains can provide a higher ground to fight against the undead if they manage to get that far. White Harbour is the other option, with boats allowing for evacuation if we get over run and are unable to fight.”

“Torrhen’s square has been taken over by the Ironborn. They hold the last of the Tallhart house there.” Alliser informed Cor, sneering at him for forgetting that. Cor on the other hand didn’t rise to the bait, he only stated, “Don’t worry, I will take care of that. When it’s been freed, we will have the Small folk go there.”

There were dissatisfied faces and grumbles of disbelief. With a glare Cor reminded them, “Queen Sansa and I took Winterfell back _alone_. And I can do the _same_ with Torrhen’s square.”

Frowning, Jon changed the subject, bringing them back on topic, “What will happen to the rest of Westeros if we have to leave?”

Cor shrugged nonchalantly, “Well, I figured we could send them a letter, warning of the army, but I highly doubt they will believe it. That will be their failing though. But, with my plans, I’m going to say that it’s not likely the dead won’t get past Winterfell without being fully defeated.”

Many of the men gave nods of understanding or agreement. Carrying on, Cor pointed to the part of the map that shows the Wall and the land past it. “First, about200 yards or so away from the Wall, we will build a large, wooden blockade, around five hundred or so feet long, curving towards the Wall. As tall as we can get it, hopefully at least ten feet. This will slow down the undead, but not stop them. It will allow fighters to pick them off without being completely overwhelmed as the undead trickle in.” Looking up, and seeing his audience focused, he continued. “Next, about mid way between the blockade and the Wall, will be a ten foot deep trench. In the trench there will be wooden spikes that should also slow the undead down, as well as the height of the trench. However, there will be four tunnel entrances spread out evenly under the ground.”

Seeing some dubious frowns, Cor elaborated, “If we dig these four tunnels that end just before the wooden blockade above ground, we can have explosives set up underneath, at the very end of the tunnel and sporadically back through them. When the dead breach the blockade, the fighters in between that wall and the trench will have to retreat around and behind the trench before we light the bombs.”

Realisation runs through the men at what he is planning. “This explosion will hopefully take out a lot of the dead. But what is one of the most important job in those that are on the Wall itself.” Tapping the Wall indicated on the map, Cor said seriously, “With trebuchets and archers - both longbow and recurve - they will be launching aerial attacks, taking out larger portions of the army. However, the archers will be stationed lower, in the platforms Queen Sansa is creating. Closer and more accurate, flaming arrows will be dead useful.”

Tormund snorted at his pun, and Cor gave him a smirk for catching that. However, he spotted the looks of the disapproving Night’s Watch men, Lord Royce’s long-suffering grimace, and Stannis’ flat expression, and Cor cleared his throat, focusing back the the battle plan.

“Once the bombs go off, that is the signal for the ones on the Wall to quicken their attacks. They would already be firing across the battlefield, mainly the trebuchets, and past the blockade. But once the fighters begin to retreat, they can launch more attacks and lay waste to all those in between the trench and beyond. The rest will be retreating through the gate and will be providing more support from above.”

Taking a quick sip of his goblet of water, wetting his dry throat, Cor began again. “On the battle ground, all soldiers and fighter will be working together in groups of four or five. Taking on enemies together and if injured, one or two can provide covering fire, whilst the others take the injured behind our line to be helped. If you see a fighter go down, you need to light that body on fire as soon as possible. Mourning will come later and I do not want people freezing up because their friend has risen again to kill them.”

Leaning back from the table and crossing his arms, voice firm, Cor said. “But this will all be for _nothing_ if we can’t take down Night King, as this is both a battle and a _distraction_. Generally speaking, leaders will _typically_ be towards the back with their counsel and generals. They will be at the back with him, most likely ready to take out the living who have exhausted themselves with the main army.

So here is my idea. A team of ten or more of some of the best fighters will leaving right before the battle starts, heading in the direction of the Night King. They will have to take him down so that the rest of the army will fall without his magic.”

“Will that be you?” Jon chimed in.

Cor shook his head and leant over again, tapping at the map. “No. I will be on the main battle ground as I’ve heard they have a giant or two on their side. I’ve taken down bigger _so that should be fun_.” Sending them a wicked grin, they look back at him doubtfully or unsure. The free folk however just huff in amusement and he’s starting to like them better than the rest of the men.

Turning back the Snow, he declared, “I heard that you, Snow, are one of the best fighters. So you will be going.” Said man startled, and then Cor turned to the Free folk, “Tormund, as you are sort-of in charge of the Free folk, you can either stay behind and fight the main army, or be on the team with Snow. It’s up to you. If you decide not to, you need to find two or three of your very best fighters. And I do mean the _best_. This is no time for gaining bragging rights or some epic adventure. This is life or death.”

Solemnly, the large man nodded. “Aye, my people know life or death, Leonis. I will discuss with them and get back to you.”

Nodding back, equally serious, Cor wrapped up the battle plan. “Good. Now, I have a back up plan if shit hits the fan.”

He ignored the confused looks at his phrase, but figured they know the general idea of what he was talking about. Setting his hand on the hilt of Gil’s sword which is strapped on his back, Cor spoke again. “With this lovely sword, I can summon my own army of the dead, though they are more like physical ghosts. If need be, they can cover our retreat.”

Lord Royce frowned deeply, and pointed out, “Don’t you need to be there when you summon them?”

Cocking his head to the side Cor hums, “Hm, yeah. But I’ve handled worse odds. If you must leave me on the other side and close the gate, do so. That is an order.”

Fixing the men with a firm gaze, they all nod, some more hesitant than others, especially Lord Royce.

“Now, for numbers.” Sighing in resignation, Cor says, “I _originally_ wanted two different sections of our army, so that when one grows tired, they can swap out with the other. But, with how low our numbers still are, that won’t be possible. So the team going for the Night King must be as quick as possible. We don’t want to lose fighters because of exhaustion.”

“I also want, for every _one_ soldier on the ground, for there to be _three_ archers. Archers will be some of the best defence we have, and can last longer in a fight than ground assault. That means we have between now and the battle to train as many able bodied people in archery as possible. I’m talking volunteers, like women and older children. Men who have leg injures but can still fire an arrow. As long as they’re accurate and not blind, I want them on the Wall. Though emphasise on the ‘ _Volunteer_.’ If they don’t want to fight, we are not making them. War is a horrible thing to witness, and can drive some people mad with all that death. Add in magic undead army, that could create some unstable people. And we _don’t_ want that.”

Seeing them all nod in agreement, Cor smiled slightly, pleased at them all understanding. Clapping his hands once, he asked,

“Any question?”

“So how goes communing with the Wall?”

The top of the Wall is as freezing as the first time, wind biting at their cheeks. Sansa briefly turned to see Cor, stepping off the platform that elevated you up to the top. She shrugged, looking back down at the ice. Her hands uncovered and touching the floor below her. “Not as well as with Suha, unfortunately.”

As he stepped closer and asks, “What’s wrong then?” She rose from her crouch, sighing in frustration.

“I think I just haven’t connected well with my magic as I thought I had. With Suha, I created a connection with my blood, just as she did, thus making a bridge between one another. But the Wall. It’s less alive. Most likely what Winterfell would’ve been like if Suha hadn’t sacrificed herself. My theory is that Winterfell is more alive than any other castle because of Suha. Unless they too have ancestor sacrificing their life for protection. Also, Suha _wanted_ to commune with me. The Wall doesn’t.”

He looked out past the Wall, and into the Free folk’s land, contemplatively humming. “Maybe you need something that conducts your magic?”

She cocked her head to the side, brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand?”

Tapping the hilt of his sword on his waist, he began to explain. “So, Gilgamesh has his own magic, but he uses his sword to help focus it, to move it from his body and affect the area around him. I sometimes uses my own blades to focus my magic, though my body can be the conductor too.”

“So, I should use my dagger then?”

Shaking his head, he gestured to her figure, “No. Your magic is not based around objects, it’s more of your body that is the conductor.”

Now even more confused than before at his contradiction, she spluttered, “But-You _just said_ I need something to conduct my magic!”

Rubbing at the back of his head, he gave a shrug and nod, “Yes, but what I meant it that sometimes it’s harder to work magic when it can’t be channeled.” At the look of her confusion, he frowned, thinking of a good example, before his face lit up with an idea. “Okay, look, say you’re pouring water from a bucket into a small vial. That water would go everywhere, uncontrolled. So what would you use to help pour the water into the vial without it spilling everywhere?”

Slowly, she responded, “A _funnel_.” Then a dawned realisation passes over her.

Grinning, he pumped his fist, “ _Yes_! Exactly. You need a funnel. Something to help filter and focus that magic to one point so that you can control it outwards and connect with the Wall.”

She look bemused at his enthusiasm, asking, “What do you suggest then?”

“Music.” He offered.

She grasped his hands, excitement pouring off of her, exclaiming, “ _Because I sung for Gilgamesh!”_

Gripping her hands back, he nodded. “ _Exactly_. If you had an instrument, or if you sung, you could funnel your magic and commune with the Wall, changing it to your will.”

She looked down again at the ice and wondered out loud, softly, “How do you think Bran did it?”

Shrugging, he offered, “No clue. We _could_ ask Gil?”

She snorted in amusement, “No, let’s not bother him _too_ much.”

She took a step back, and knelt on the icy floor below her again, pulling off her leather gloves. Cor held his hand out and she handed them over for safe keeping. With how the wind howled and blew around them, they would be lost in an instant.

Inhaling the icy air, burning her lungs, she set her hands down onto the freezing floor, and closed her eyes to help with her concentration. She wasn’t able to make a connection with the Wall instantly, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel the ancient magic thrumming through it. To her, it felt like it was in some deep slumber, hard to jostle awake.

Exhaling, she opened her mouth, and _sang_.

Unlike the song she used for healing, this one doesn’t have true words to it. It reminded her of the kulning that herders would use to summon their live stock. She was calling the Wall back into awareness, gently shaking it awake.

Her voice flowed on the winds around her, swirling and flying down the sides of the Wall. Eyes opening slightly, she sees the golden glow of her magic. Like a strange pulse, it moved from her, outwards, like a ripple in a still pond. Over and over it repeated, gently flowing.

Sansa felt like her blood was freezing as the Wall became more aware of her call. Her _song_ , echoing and eerie, brought it awake, and reaching out to her. The ice below made cracking sounds over her voice, and looking down, she saw white frost forming on her hands before slowly, ice over took them.

Trying to focus and not panic at her hands being trapped in ice, she grasped onto the magic below her and _tugs_. Remembering the diagrams Cor had shown her, she pictured them, willing the Wall to listen and follow her command.

It groaned and shook under their feet, like a beast yawning and grumbling at being awaken. Like a bear coming out of a long hibernation, it’s slow and tired. But still, it follows what she asked for. As she grasped at the Wall’s magic, trying to form a connection, she was suddenly hit was an onslaught of images.

All the commanders of the Night’s Watch from now and to the beginning, she has there names _bursting_ in her mind, on the tip of her tongue. She _sees_ the lives on the Wall, the deaths around it. All the vows made by each brother at the heart’s tree. She can _taste_ their blood, their _pain_ , their very _souls_ , with each second she connects with the Wall.

It’s over whelming. It’s _exhausting_. _Horrific. Amazing_. It’s so much at once, she felt like she would collapse from everything she was feeling. Everything that the Wall has felt.

Then she gasped, eyes wide open but only seeing _Him_.

He stood before her, tall, brilliant, _terrifying_. Dark brown eyes and hair, and a war hammer in his fist. _Bran the Builder stood before her._ Cold eyes observe her, and Sansa felt so exposed and vulnerable under that all-seeing gaze. His very spirit lived in this ice. Though buried in Winterfell, he lived on in the greatest structure ever created.

But anger fills her, staring up at this ghost, remembering the last one she communed with. Her song fades as she whispered to him, “ _Suha_.”

Those cold eyes widen, and Sansa is then _drowning_ with the grief of a long-dead man. His self-loathing and anger, had her mind going light-headed. The last thing she saw was his hand reaching out to her face. The last thing she felt was a cold, large hand settling on her head. And the last thing she heard, was a soft,

“ _I’m sorry._ ”

Cor has to say, right up there with Sansa nearly drowning, that watching her commune with the Wall, feeling how it trembled and shook under her song, and then watching her collapse after speaking Suha’s name. _That was terrifying_.

The ice that locked around her hands had disappeared so quickly, it was like it didn’t want to touch her anymore. Like a hand burnt, the ice pulled away, reacting to pain. He managed to catch her head before it hit the hard floor, cradling her body close.

Her eyelids flickered, as if dreaming, and her breathing was even, Cor concluded after pressing an ear to her chest. Fumbling to take off his own glove, he pressed on her cold wrist and felt her pulse. He didn’t have a watch to count, so he just guessed the general time whilst feeling her pulse beating.

It was steady. No elevation or decline in her heart rate. ‘ _She most likely passed out from over use of magic_.’ Cor thought. With the wind whipping across his face, Cor brushed her cheek lightly with his thumb. Leaning down, he kissed her forehead lightly before picking her up. He doesn’t want to bring her unconscious form down to the castle where everyone could see her. So he found a small hide away on the Wall, and tucked them both in tightly.

It’s cold as balls, but protected against the wind.

Holding Sansa close, he watched as the sun sets in west, the orange sun casting a golden glow onto the ice, making it glitter and dance around them. It was a breathtaking sight, and Cor wished Sansa was awake to see it.

But as the sun sinks, and the stars come out, bright against the black sky, Sansa still stayed asleep. He knew it would be best to go back down to their rooms, where it was marginally warmer, but something told him it’s best if she stayed up here. That Sansa was still communing with the Wall, and she needed to be as close to it as possible.

With a tired sigh, his breath making puffs in front of his face, Cor settled in for the long-haul, face resting on top of Sansa’s head.

He is only in a half-asleep state when he jerked awake to the sound of footsteps, crunching on ice. From tired to alert, Cor tightened his loosened hold on Sansa to his chest and withdrew his sword, holding it out in front of him defensively.

Boots and a lower half of a man came into view, before crouching down to see into the hide-away Cor was in. Jon Snow’s dour face revealed itself, and Cor relaxed minutely. Frowning in worry, he looked over to Sansa.

“Is she alright?”

“She over-used her magic and exhausted herself.”

He frowned in confusion and concern, “And you’re keeping her up here, in the _cold_?”

Cor sent him a withering glare, “Cold doesn’t affect her so much anymore, and if it did, _of course_ I wouldn’t keep her up here. I just didn’t want people down below seeing her in such a vulnerable state.”

Snow shifted awkwardly on his feet before asking, “Any idea on when she will awaken?”

“No. Why, do you need her for something?”

“The lords and King Stannis are wondering where she is at, as well as her guards.” His frowning face shifted a little, and a look of incredulous awe crosses his dour face. “With how the Wall’s structure has changed, just as you said it would, people are wondering where she is at since she hasn’t shown herself.” His tone shifted again, to one of minor disapproval, like the fact she just managed this massive feat and then hadn’t paraded down to the castle was a shortcoming. Never mind the fact that she was literally passed out in Cor’s arms.

Cor figured Snow and all those below found the change in the Wall to be shocking and/or frightening. Unfortunately, Cor hadn’t been able to see it, wishing he could’ve borne witnessed to their reactions. Instead he had to deal with Snow unhappy with Sansa being unconscious.

“Tell them she has to stay up on the Wall right now. She will come down in the morning.” Cor tossed out as a response. He understands that her absence may cause unrest, but Cor doesn’t give two shits.

Snow frowned in response, pointing out, “Didn’t you _just say_ you didn’t know when she was waking up?”

Cor just shrugged in reply. “Call it a hunch.”

He seemed uncertain, but left not shortly after that. Snow stared at the way Cor held Sansa, and Cor was waiting for him to say something about their close proximity, but it seemed he decided to hold his tongue on that matter. Cor had no doubt that Snow figured something was going on between them, but Cor was too tired to care at the moment. The cold wasn’t helping either, but he stayed vigilant, and waited until Sansa would awaken.

And just as he predicted, as the sky turned from black to a dark blue, she stirred. Letting out a soft moan, he watched her squeeze her eyes tight and snuggle into his chest. Face softening at her gesture, a murmured her name, trying to wake her up.

“‘Mm, ‘ _urts_ ” Over the wind, it was faint but that’s what he heard her groan. Frowning, Cor asked, concerned, “What does?”

“ _Head_.” She answered and stayed laying in his arms. ‘ _Magic overload? A backlash from the connection with the castle?_ ’ Cor worried internally. It took her maybe a few more minutes before she can even crack her eyes open, looking up at him blearily.

With a face like a grumping kitten, Cor smiled fondly down at her sleepy face, and kissed her forehead. “ _Good morning, your majesty._ ”

“How long have I been asleep?” She muttered, voice groggy with sleep.

“All night. Missed a _lovely_ sunset, but at least you get to watch the sunrise.” He pointedly nodded at the sky in front of them. Struggling a little in his embrace, she managed to turn and take a look at the sky.

He watched the way her eyes widen in delight, at the light blue and yellow hues brushing across the sky, and the sight of her blatant amazement and awe at the simple pleasure of a sunrise, had him melting.

The silence lasts only for a few short minutes before Sansa quietly said, “I saw Bran the Builder when I connected with the Wall.”

He raised an eyebrow in interest. “What did he say?”

Sansa shrugged awkwardly in his arms, “It was more that he _showed_ me all the Night’s Watch men now and the past. All the way to the beginning of it’s creation. I saw him and how he created it.”

“How?”

“He could _control ice_ , forming it and moving it. He created the Wall in small sections, with the use of a war hammer as his conductor for his magic.”

She paused and Cor allowed his thoughts to wander, imagining what that must’ve looked like. What it must’ve felt like, to see all those lives, to see your ancestor from 8,000 years ago.

Her soft voice cut him out of his musings, “And, I _believe_ he gave me a message.”

Biting her lip, Cor watched her face contort into a mirage of different emotions, flicking by too fast for him to figure them out. Finally, she settled on a frown, though not one of confusion or frustration. “I saw him, and became so filled with _anger_. With all that I felt with Suha, and how she was forgotten. I said her name. I wanted him to know that, that I remember her. I remember despite how you’ve made all the past Starks forget.”

A shivering, sad anger rolls from her voice, and Cor squeezed her against him tightly in comfort.

“I heard that, yeah.”

She then whispered, astounded, “ _And he said, ‘I’m sorry.’_ ”

They sit in silence, Sansa still trying to ease her brain with all the influx of information from the communing. Cor was happy to stay where they are at. Though cold, their shared warmth is enough to keep the worst of it away.

Finally as the sun had risen to be just over their heads, they begin to stand up. Stretching, Cor noticed how Sansa turned and looked in the other direction, towards the south of the Wall.

Her voice is filled with that queenly confidence that she showed around her people. Sansa spoke with am=n earth-trembling strength that Cor had grown proud of. “I’ve seen _so much_ , with the connection with Suha and Winterfell. _With the Wall_. With the _lands_ of the North, and I can’t help but think, what of all the _other_ kingdoms? What happened to their culture and traditions when the Targaryen’s invaded? And _why_ do we continue to fight over who should get the Iron Throne, when in the beginning, it was _never_ something the people of Westeros _wanted_?” These questions were something Cor would be unable to answer, but the way she turned back to him, an excited grin crossing her features, the sun making her hair glow, she decided:

“Cor. I think I want to break the seven kingdoms back up, and _destroy the Iron Throne._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Until they get to the main battle, the top of each chapter will say how long the time skip was.
> 
> I watched many battle videos to create this hot mess of a plan and it’s still got many things to tweak as the story goes on. Mainly inspired by a video on youtube about how the battle of winterfell was fucking terrible and what they should’ve done. And the 3 archers to 1 soldier was inspired by henry V who did the same in some of his battles. Thought that was pretty smart.
> 
> And then you have Sansa using more magic! I’ve had this as a sort’ve plan, wanting her to work with the Wall, and BRan came from the left field, so I thought, ‘ooo guilt! Perfect!’ And then sweet sweet cuddles in the cold.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Until next time!


	33. Medieval failings and Modern warfare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cor’s inner monologue on the lack of good explosives and Sansa is exhausted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter, a bit of a filler. TW: low key, no detail, but vomiting is mentioned.

_1 month later_

Sansa had returned back to Winterfell a week after communing with the Wall, leaving Cor behind to continue with battle planning. He also wanted to supervise the construction of the tunnels, the trench, the blockade, and all the trebuchets on the Wall. He had also sent men to go to all the towns of the North, asking for people willing to learn archery, men and women.

The settlements between the Wall and Winterfell were evacuated too. Small folk flooded Winterfell as well as Torrhen’s square and Winter Harbour. They were urged to bring all live stock and food, which was to be given to the people in charge, so that it may be evenly distributed. Sansa had the Manderly’s in charge of the food supply in White Harbour, but it was his daughter Wylla and Wynafryd who were put to the task, as he was in Dragonstone helping Ser Daavos over see the mining of dragonglass.

In Torrhen’s square, after Cor had stormed it with his ghost army, slaying the Ironborn within, the Tallhart were only too thankful, happy to allow the Small folk to seek refuge. Lady Eddara Tallhart, now the head of her house, was happy that the commoners brought much of their own food, as the Tallhart stores had slowly started dwindling when the Ironborn were there.

With much of the people of the North heading south of the kingdom, there were still many who stayed up north to help with preparations. Men and women were helping with cutting down large trees, having them transported to the Wall to make the blockade. Those that were hardier and stronger, helped dig the tunnels.

With the frozen ground, it was tough, but if soldiers during the early parts of the war between Niflheim and Tenebrae proved anything, it was that they could dig foxholes fast under the pressure of areal bombs. So, with the lack of death hanging over their heads, the diggers managed to do well.

Speaking of bombs, they didn’t have anything that was technically explosive here. There was the wildfire that Stannis talked about, and by the sound of it Cor figured that it was similar to the Galahdian fire. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the recipe for it and with hearing how dangerous it was, Cor didn’t want that in his hands if it became uncontrollable.

So instead he tried to find a way to make gunpowder, or the equivalent in Westeros. Sulphur and charcoal were easy to find, with farmers being used to the materials. It was finding potassium nitrate that was the problem. The chemical forms naturally in warm climates, something which the North lacked. But there was also the fact that gunpowder wasn’t that strong of an explosive, and it’s mainly used in ammunition, acting as a propellent.

So he scrapped that idea and went searching through his books for other ideas. There was thermal warfare, specifically the use of fire for destroying land foundations. There was the tactic of mining under the fortifications you were attacking, and filling it with combustibles. It wouldn’t provided the massive explosions he wanted, but upsetting the ground, so the undead would struggle to move could be a good strategy. With them all locked in one area, it would provide easy pickings for the artillery above.

So with that in mind, he had people gathering as much brushwood, resin, and firewood possible. There would be massive piles at the end of each tunnel, with a trail of oil leading outward, so they can safely light the fires without anyone dying in the explosion or collapse of the tunnels. There would be wooden pillars to hold up the dirt ceilings as they dig, so it wouldn’t collapse, especially at the very end of the tunnels, where the materials wouldn’t be buried. 

He was disappointed that gunpowder, and then by association dynamite hadn’t been invented yet. Besides fighting the creatures head on, fire and explosions are the best way forward, and even then they didn’t have the good stuff. If they were fighting living opponents, mustard gas would’ve been one of the tactics. Chemical warfare was by and large, one of the best ways to fight an enemy, according to history. And Cor would be lying if he said he wasn’t put-out at not being able to use his knowledge.

In school, chemistry was his favourite class. With how much he enjoyed learning about past wars and how they used different strategies, learning about chemical warfare and how anyone could technically make the substances if they had the right equipment, knowledge, and materials.

‘ _Another time._ ’ Cor promised himself wistfully. When the war was over and he could take a trip to the Citadel, where they had all their knowledge stored, he would pour over the books and try to find information on the elements and chemicals in this land.

So in the end, in another meeting, Cor ended up going back over his plan for explosives, and changing it so that the ground would be collapsed. 

He also kept himself busy so that his thoughts only just lingered on Sansa, missing her. Back in Winterfell, she was making plans for separating the seven kingdoms, starting with her Uncle in Riverrun, Edmure Tully, and those in Dorne. He doesn’t know how well it’s going, seeing as she doesn’t want to spread the plan around, but in the letters she does send to him, she hinted that with her uncle and Doran Martell, it is going fairly well.

He had talked to Stannis as well about the best ways of charging and splitting apart the enemy. The man has had much experience in terms of battle field commanding, and Cor was eager to learn anything that would benefit him. Cor had lead small groups in battle when he was in Eos, but this would be much different. Stannis had suggested that a horn to blow, to signal whether to retreat or attack would be beneficial for leading an army. Once they’ve lost sight of their leader, armies tend to lose proper structure, and keeping a rein on it would be a struggle. It was good advice and at times, two fell into discussions over the past month, with Cor happy to name Stannis his second in command on the battlefield.

By Stannis’ face, the man didn’t know whether to feel proud or _insulted_.

It’s during when he was helping to dig the trench, that movement was spotted in the trees far ahead. All the men were instantly alert, Cor tightening his grip on his shovel, wondering if this would be the first time he sees the undead. Instead, it’s a large wolf, with two children riding on it’s back. Cor frowned in confusion and feeling tense at this unknown, before a sharp gasp from Snow has Cor looking to him for information.

Turning to the man, he spotted the way Snow stared in disbelief and had slow-growing hope in his eyes. As the massive wolf began to trot nearer, Snow manoeuvred his way around the in-progress trench, and started to jog up to the wolf and children.

Closer, though not within hearing distance, Cor could see the red hair of the boy, and the way Snow swept the boy off the wolf in a massive bear hug. The boy eagerly returned the embrace, and distantly he could hear the name ‘ _Bran_ ’ leave Snow’s lips.

Putting his shovel down, Cor headed back to the castle, and decided to send off a quick letter to Sansa. She would be happy to hear that her other brother is back and alive, though it could add another struggle with the return of her second brother.

He was worried for how she would receive the news, and also figured that Snow would send one too, but Cor wanted her to hear from him first, as Snow could be obliviously dickish with his words. When that was finished, he started to head back to the tunnels, and walked passed the kitchens and took a quick peek in, looking for something to swipe to eat. Instead, hand hovering over a dried piece of meat, his eyes froze over the sight of flour.

A light bulb moment flashed in his head, and he darted into the kitchen, apologising profusely, and snatched up a large handful of flour. As he dashed out of the castle, he swiped a torch off a wall and skidded into the courtyard.

There, many looked up at his sudden entrance, and casted wary gazes his way at the manic grin splitting across his face. Ignoring his audience, Cor stuck the end of the torch into the ground hard, it’s fire burned bright above. After making a few shooing motions, getting people out of the way, he tugged a handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped it around the flour. He didn’t tie it off, only folding the edges over, needing the flour to come out when he throws it.

Taking a few steps back, Cor aimed, and tossed.

The fabric unfolded and the flour fell out, the dusty material falling to the flame, before a massive burst of fire spat upwards, the flame reaching about his chest if he was standing right next to it.

There were a few yelps of shock and some men murmured with awe. Manic grin still across his face Cor loudly declared, “ _Flour! It’s combustible!”_

After that display he had quickly gathered his counsel and began to explain.

“Alright, so over the last month I’ve been trying to find something that can cause a massive explosion, failing to see that you guys haven’t even invented gunpowder. Like, that the _fuck were you people doing for 8,000 years?_ ” Some gave him offended expressions but Cor bulldozed over their indignations. “ _Anyways_ , when we build the tunnel, they need to move upwards from ten feet under to two feet. Because the explosion may not be as big as I would hope, but it will collapse the ground and the undead will be stuck in large holes, like sitting ducks. The flour, which when very fine and in the air, it catches fire. When flour is in a pile, it won’t do that because of the lack of air. But in the air, when flour just floats around for a bit, then it’s combustible. We will need a lot of support beams under that area, as the fighting above on thin ground could collapse easily.”

Once everyone came around to the plan, Cor set out the needed materials, leaning back from the table, arms folded. “What we will need is eight, large sacks of fine flour. I understand that we are very tight on food at the moment, but this is very much life or death, and bread isn’t the only thing we can eat.”

When Sansa got the letter from Cor that Bran returned Sansa’s relief and joy only lasted until Jeyne softly asked if that meant Sansa would have to step down from the throne. She would admit that annoyance and frustration Sansa felt at another brother returning meant she would have to, once again, argue her right to the throne, that she threw up in self-disgust.

The return of her family was a joyous thing, but now her already precarious position as queen with Rickon’s return was starting to crumble again, marring any happiness she had felt. She had argued with the lords, that took up the idea of Rickon, a male, on the throne was a better idea than her. She had argued that he had not even been raised to rule and had spent the last three years on the run. He was too young to rule, and too traumatised as well. They argued that he be her heir when she stepped down after the war. Not if, when. Even Jon had written that because Rickon was the next true born male heir, it’s his right.

That was not a good day for her, with her hands constantly shaking and needing to throw up once more. Her She-wolves had closed rank, not leaving her alone and barring any nobles from talking with her that day.

And unfortunately, that was the decision, until Rickon was told and he threw a massive fit, not wanting to be a king. She had felt very smug at how his tantrum was received by the other nobles, the slow dawning realisation that Rickon was a young child. The Mormonts had then stepped forward, supporting her rule.

“You have a perfectly good monarch right here. Your need for a cock on the throne would cause the North to crumble in the face of the war to come with a child as it’s leader, as well as the fact that it was Sansa who had reclaimed the North from the Boltons, who rallied the people, and who has kept us safe and prepared for the Long Night.”

Alys Karstark and Laurence Hornwood, put forth their support as well. Lord Glover ended up conceding. Lord Manderly most likely would’ve been on his side as well, but he was in Dragonstone, unable to state his opinion.

That evening, Rickon had snuggled into bed with her, Arya joining them. As she had played with his hair, he sleepily mumbled, “Did I do well?” She paused in her ministrations, and looked down at her littlest brother, stunned. It was an act he pulled Sansa realised, and then tugged him closer to her, squeezing him tightly in gratitude.

But now that Bran had returned, that same argument would occur again, and this time, Bran wouldn’t be throwing a convenient fit.

With an exhausted sigh, Sansa laid her head on her desk with a dull thump. Jeyne patted her back consolingly, sympathising with how unfair it was that lords hated the idea of being ruled by a woman. A lady of her house was generally alright, but a _queen_? It irked them to ‘ _demean_ ’ themselves to such leadership. But there were so many women taking on the roles as Ladies of their houses because so many of the male heirs had died. You would’ve thought that the lords would adapt, but apparently some still haven’t.

She hoped that her charge of the North, taking it back, and trying to keep everyone alive as best as possible would win them over in the end. And maybe it did for some. But they would still see a woman as lesser to a man. Sansa had a plan, that if they win this battle, she would change the law of inheritance. Making it so that it’s the first born child, than the first born son, that gets to inherit the title. Too many women have had their birth right stolen or ignored, passed over for a male relative instead.

The next day, she got another letter from Jon, a month after his last one. He must not of known that Cor had already sent one, because in this letter it also said that Bran had returned, along with Meera Reed. Unfortunately, Jojen Reed, Lord Reed’s son, had died in their journey. Jon wrote about his confusion with Bran calling himself the ‘ _Three-eyed Raven,_ ’ and how he seemed a little distant from how he was as a child.

Another concern to add to the pile, Sansa figured, feeling exhausted. Bran would be traveling back to Winterfell as soon as possible, with Cor as a guard. It’s around the time she was penning out a reply, that Rickon came barreling into her room, Shaggydog skittered in after him.

Channeling their mother, she sharply reprimanded them both immediately, standing up from her chair. “ _Rickon! Shaggydog!_ ” Both instantly froze and the direwolf’s tail tucked in between his legs, head lowered in submission. Rickon, though he does stop hollering havoc, didn’t look ashamed one bit.

Fists on her hips, she stared him down, until he finally succumbed to her glare and murmured an apology. Then an out of breath Osha came into the room, giving an awkward bow. “Apologies y’grace. It’s bath time.” The woman admitted sheepishly.

Raising an eye brow, Sansa looked back down at her youngest brother. “ _Oh, is it now_?”

Rickon must sense her plan, because he instantly sprinted like a rabbit to the door, but Osha was too quick. As he tried to run under her legs, she snatched him up, hugging him close to her chest.

Amusement playing on her face, Sansa came over to hold onto his legs to stop them from kicking the older woman. “Shall we clean this wild wolf, Osha?”

Giving an hesitant grin back, said woman responds, “ _We shall_ , y’grace.”

It was a messy, wet affair, just as predicted. Though he actually settled down once Osha began regaling him with stories, allowing them to give his body and hair a good scrub. Sansa too was quite enraptured by Osha’s tales, reminding her of Old Nan.

The Old Nan hadn’t improved much in health, still laid to bed rest. But with the way the cold continued to grow with the nearing of the Long Night, Sansa feared that the old woman would not make it to see spring. So she continued to see her everyday, along with Arya and now Rickon. Rickon seemed to remember her, and some nights he spent them curled up on Old Nan’s bed with her.

Talking with Old Nan, the woman spotted her usage of magic, softly singing to heal the old woman as best as she could. Nan was so happy to see the Stark magic again, gently holding Sansa’s cheeks, pride in her voice.

“I remember stories about it, as a child. When the Starks bent the knee, their magic began to slowly dwindle. I believe, that the last Stark that had the old magics, was Lord Rickard, your grandfather.”

Sansa continued to show her small bits of magic in her sewing and her singing. Spending everyday giving Old Nan a boost of energy through her magic to keep the woman alive and going. She also told her about Cor, and how she had used magic to change the Wall. Seeing the ghosts of her grandfather and Bran the Builder, it was Old Nan’s turn to be told stories.

But those were just small moments in between the stress of ruling. There was all the nobles under her house, though many had returned to their keeps to take stock of their own supplies and help shelter more Small folk. With many gone, it eased Jeyne’s worry, who was keeping a very firm eye and iron fist on all their supplies.

At the moment, King Stannis was at the Wall, wanting to watch over the proceedings, leaving his wife and daughter in Winterfell. Melisandre was also lurking about, Selyse and her discussing in hushed tones. When Sansa went the Beth, concerned, her friend had assured her that there were no plans to harm any of her people or Shireen. The two women would talk of their god, and the magic that Sansa and Cor were using. Beth admitted that their almost fanatical love for the Lord of Light unsettled her, with Sansa replying that it would be best to still keep an eye on the two. She didn’t like the way they were privately discussing her magic.

Arya also kept an eye on Shireen, both of them having made fast friends, talking about stories they’ve read. Her little sister almost showed a protective nature over the other girl, never allowing her alone with her mother. You could spot them in the training yard, Shireen reading on the fence, sometimes reading passages out loud whilst Arya trained with her sword. Sansa was relieved that Arya had found a friend, as she certainly deserved one. Her sister had calmed down greatly in the few months that had passed, and had come to Sansa a few times on what to write or send to Robyn.

Flattered at Arya trusting her for advice, Sansa was only too happy to help. 

There was also the stress of sending ravens to Uncle Edmure and Lord Doran. They both seemed willing to support her decision, though her uncle requested that the Riverlands could have boarder guards for his kingdom when the time comes, as the land has been completely ravaged by the Mountain and his men. As well as the war fought on the land, making it hard to keep his people safe or grow any crops.

Lord Royce offered his men to help when the war was over, as Robyn was more than happy to help his uncle. The Vale was also behind her idea, so that was four of seven kingdoms willing. She had also sent a letter to Asha Greyjoy, Theon’s younger sister. He had said that she was the best for leading the Iron Islands as all their uncles were terrible people and their rule would be filled with pillaging and rape.

Sansa had written that she would support the Iron Island’s independence, as long as they kept the raids from Westeros lands and it was Asha that took up the crown. Asha’s only request was to have her brother returned from being a hostage.

When Sansa had said that Theon was welcomed to go home, he had a sad look crossing his face. “I’m not an Ironborn anymore, Sansa. I barely recognised my own sister when we reunited. And, if you will have me, I would like to continue to serve under you as my queen.” He had asked, solemn.

Tearing up, Sansa had held him close, declaring, “Theon, you are _family_. You may stay here as long as you would like, and if you ever wished to return to the Iron Islands, you have my permission. And I’m sure Cor would be happy to hear of your decision to stay.” He gave a soft, watery smile in return.

She had seen the way Cor, Theon, Luka, and that Skagos boy Talbert, had formed a tight friendship, with Podrick later on joining in. She would hate for Cor to lose a close friend, just as he was opening up more, reaching out to form bonds that wasn’t just with her.

After that, Theon had gave her a letter to add to her’s, asking for them to be sent to his sister together. She had taken it and promised to do so. With that over, Theon happily went back to teaching his large group of students in archery. Many were just Small folk, wanting to help out as best as they could, and Sansa was happy to allow them. Cor was right, they would need as many people as possible, and Theon fully supported his Commander’s decision of three archers to every foot soldier.

Sansa didn’t always understand too much of warfare, but Cor had been immensely helpful with her learning, explaining anything she didn’t understand. When she had asked about the archer numbers he had said,

“There was a king centuries ago in Eos that won a lot of battles with that tactic. He did so mainly by have more archers than most would bring. In doing so, the mass rain of arrows on the battlefield was what won his victories. Never underestimate the power of arrows from the sky.”

She bowed to his expertise, knowing that he would do everything he could to win the battle. But the request to commandeer _eight sacks of flour_ was an odd one, though she did give him permission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! And that is how i worked around a lack of explosives. When I say tho, that it will be a small explosion, i do mean that. But science won’t be the ONLY thing helping them in battle 😉. But that would be spoilers. And when i wrote Galahdian fire, i was referring to Greek fire but in Cor’s canon universe there is no Greece. So i took the country, Galahd, and worked with it. 
> 
> And Sansa is so close to a breakdown over her mixed emotions with her male family members, and her friends closed rank, helping the best they could. I know this problem was easier solved then many thought, but a couple of things. In history, a lot of people did accept A female as a ruler when she a very competent one. It, sadly, just takes awhile for a lot of male lords to come around to the idea. And Rickon, that tricky bitch, knew exactly what he was doing, as at the moment, he doesn’t want to rule. He’s seen the paperwork. He thinks it’s completely dull.
> 
> Thats is all for now, until next time!


	34. The green eyed beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cor meets Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hella foul language because of Sandor

_2 months later_

Having returned weeks ago, Sansa could see what Jon had meant when he said that Bran was distant, but there was still that child she knew underneath, when he talked softly with Meera Reed. When he had greeted his siblings at the gate, sitting on Summer with Cor standing by his side. Lord Reed was understandably distraught at his son’s death, but welcomed the return of his daughter with tearful relief. They had secluded themselves in Lord Reed’s chamber, obviously needing to catch up as soon as his daughter arrived.

The night of his return, Sansa had curled up with Bran, Rickon, and Arya. They had tucked themselves into Sansa and Cor’s bed, which Cor was happy enough to give them the space that night, finding a place to sleep in barracks with his men.

The four took the time catching up, and listening to Bran explain his title as well as the previous one who held it. His visions sounded different to the way she communed. She felt like she lived their lives, whereas Bran would watch from an outsider’s perspective.

In return of Bran talking about his magic, both the ability to see through time and warging, Rickon mentioned softly that he did that too, in a couple of dreams whilst on the run with Osha. Arya looked a little upset that her magic wasn’t the Stark magic, but Sansa had softly reassured her that it was changing from the hollow Faceless men magic to the ancient, snowstorm that was their family magic. And it was. It was like an empty space had a small snowfall coming down, a gentle breeze running through it. Sansa had to constantly hold back the need to hug her sister, overjoyed that Arya was healing.

And then Bran mentioned how he saw Sansa change the Wall, and all the magic that she did before it. He held the awe in his voice at her feat, stating that he had only seen it centuries ago, before the Targaryens arrived. Rickon then decided to change the subject, growing bored of the subject, and begged Sansa to sing for them. A flush on her cheeks, she had cleared her throat and began to sing all the lullabies that they were sung to as infants.

She sweetly, softly, sung them all to sleep, until it was Sansa left awake and in charge of blowing out the melting candles.

In the middle of the night, Sansa awakened to Bran softly calling her name, and she struggled to open her eyes, heavy from sleep, and looked over at her younger brother.

“Do you need something, Bran?” She whispered, not wanting to wake their other siblings.

Hearing him shift a little, he asked, tone just as hush, “Who is Gilgamesh?”

She sat up, surprised, and looked at where he was laying, “ _Are you able to See him?_ ”

He shifted again, and Sansa could see the faint outline of his small body in the shadows. “Only through you and Cor.”

Faintly smiling, Sansa answered, “Gilgamesh is a friend. And a god. He is from a different world.”

Making a sound of interest, Bran responded, “How did you meet? Looking through the past, there were moments where you would just disappear and then return after a few hours.”

Laying back down on her side, facing Bran, she began to explain honestly, “I don’t know how we were able to meet. We believed it was because of the Old gods sending me to Eos, where Gilgamesh is from. According to Gilgamesh, he is not allowed in another’s domain, only through Cor’s sword, can Gilgamesh coming into this world, and even then it’s not him at his full power. So with that in mind, I don’t know how the Old gods were able to send me to a place outside of their domain.”

“Your connection with Cor?” He suggested.

But Sansa softly shook her head. “But that was only created after I visited the first time.”

“No. Suha.” He explained, “Suha saw him, over 8,000 years ago.”

Her eyes widened in realisation, “And the gods _must’ve_ seen the connection between Cor and I. How it was necessary for the safety of the North and the world.”

Reaching across Rickon, Bran took her hand in his, “Cor has changed _everything_ , Sansa. I’ve seen what it would’ve been like without him, and it isn’t hopeful.” The dark tone had Sansa whispering with dread, “Did we win?”

He squeezed her hand tight, “ _There was a price.”_

Mulling it over, Sansa worried her lip before deciding resolutely, “I don’t want to know. I-Everything that happened in that other time, it isn’t happening _now_. The gods interfered so that the Night King could be stopped and the North saved. And that is good enough for me.”

They were silent, and Sansa assumed that meant he went back to sleep, so she turned over to do the same. However, he whispered, “ _Sansa_?”

“Yes?” She prepared to turn around again, when he confessed softly before fading back to sleep,

“I’m happy you are the queen _before_ the war this time.”

With four of the five Stark’s in Winterfell, Suha had never sounded so happy, her excitement humming through Sansa’s bones. Arya seemed to slowly be picking up on the Castle’s energy, with Bran feeling it as soon as he entered the gates, same as Rickon. Arya was miffed at being the only one left out, but Bran said, in that faraway voice he had when Seeing, that she does talk to the castle in the future. That helped settle her frustration.

There was also the fact that Lord Glover once again brought up the fact that Bran could take up his right to the throne. But before she could even broach the argument with the Lord, Bran was already declining the role, stating that as the Three-eyed Raven, he would never be able to take on any titles, having to stay as impartial as possible. She couldn’t hide the relief over him not wanting to be king, and Bran just gave her a teasing smile in return, stating he didn’t wish to do all the paperwork. Which was fair enough.

She would’ve thought that there would be more fight over his decision, but the lords seemed resigned over it, as if they expected it. Sansa tried to hide how smug she felt, as that would be unbecoming of a lady.

Having spent the whole first day of their return with her siblings, Sansa hadn’t managed to find the time to greet Cor. Luckily though, the next day, she was alone in her solar, going over paperwork with Jeyne.

The door to her room flung open, and both girls jumped in fright. But both had relaxed at the sight of Cor. Cor and her locked eyes, and there was an intensity in his gaze that had Jeyne retreating quickly out the door, closing it shut behind them.

As Sansa began to stand from her desk, Cor stalked around and pulled her close to him. After a month without him and his kiss, Sansa practically melted in his embrace. Her arms tight around his shoulder, threading fingers through is closely cropped hair. Cor’s large, warm hands on her waist sent shivers through her body.

By the time they parted, he had her leaning against the edge of her desk, softly panting. The heated look had died a little, now full of soft love. One hand came up to caress her cheek, which had Sansa leaning into it eagerly.

He settled his forehead against her’s, and Cor softly murmured, “I’ve _missed_ you, Sansa.”

Holding back the need to shiver at how low his voice was, at the way he said her name, full of such love and devotion. Giving him a gentle smile, Sansa whispered back, “ _Welcome_ _home, my love_.”

Two weeks later saw Arya and Cor practising in the training yard, before Arya stopped mid-lunge and made a groan of exasperation. Her attacking posture had slumped and Cor froze in his attack, drawing his sword back quickly so that she wouldn’t be injured. The girl was barely paying attention to the fight, eyes fixed on something behind him.

She didn’t seem scared though, just angry, which was a normal state for Arya. Turning around to see what caught her ire _this time_ , he spotted a very tall, very mean looking man, standing before Sansa. The massive burn on his face told Cor exactly who is was, and the way the man was staring down at Sansa had Cor’s hackles raised.

In the midst of training he didn’t notice it, but subtly, Sansa was feeling fear. He tried to stay away from her emotions, only if they were strong enough to stop him in his tracks would he pay attention to them. He felt it was invasive, and tried to not hover whenever she felt the smallest sliver of anger, or sadness. They were a common enough emotion, small things provoking them, none harmful.

But remembering how Sansa told him of the time The Hound had held her down, blade to her throat, demanding she sing for him. She even whispered, softly ashamed, that he kissed her, but she barely remembered it.

Cor wasn’t surprised she doesn’t remember it. Something that traumatic would make her already constantly terrified self at that time in her life disassociate in order to survive. Cor did the same when his father tried to drown him again, and woke up from his dissociative episode with a dying father.

Flicking a look to Arya, but keeping most of his gaze on Sansa and The Hound, he asks the younger girl, “Do you hate him?”

She scoffed, folding her arms, and continuing to glare at the man. “Yeah. But like, he kept me alive. The only thing I’m annoyed about is that I promised to kill him the next time I see him. And now I _can’t_ , and I hate going back on my vows.” She bemoaned the unfairness and Cor quirked an eyebrow up, looking down at her smaller form, mimicking her crossed arms.

“What’s stopping you from killing him?” Cor wondered.

She turned to him looking at him like he was stupid, and drawled out, “ _Uhh_ , we need all the men we can get? He is a really good swordsman.”

Turning back to watching The Hound, he squinted a little in contemplation. “Better than me?”

Eyeing him, Arya asked slowly, “... _What are you planning?_ ”

He just gave her a wide, closed lip smile, completely fake and she could definitely tell. He didn’t care, just started to approach his queen, and listening as Arya scampered closer eagerly, enough to hear the possible drama.

Silently coming up behind Sansa, he saw how her shoulders infinitesimally relaxed at his presence. She turned, giving him a tight smile and introduced the two males.

“Sandor, this is my Shield, Cor Leonis. Cor, this is Sandor Clegane.”

The two eyed each other and the tension around their glares with heavy.

“You guard the little bird, then?” At Cor’s nod, an angry look emerged in Sandor’s eye, and the way he flicked between Cor and how close he was standing with Sansa, the older man can easily pick out how familiar they were with one another. There was a strange, sick sensation in Cor’s stomach, his chest feeling tight, at hearing the older man call Sansa that. Cor had no idea what is was, but he did not like it. Luckily, Arya seemed to have read the mood and quickly came charging in, punching Sandor hard in the arm.

With those two spitting insults back at one another, Cor snagged Sansa’s arm and lead her away, saying some excuse about looking over reports.

Once ensconced in their chambers, his hands came up to settle on her cheeks, offering comfort. He spotted how her own hands were trembling in the presence of the large man, tucked away and hidden behind her back.

“Sansa. Do you want him gone?” He asked seriously.

Blinking wide eyed, coming slowly out of her frightened state, she stumbled over her words.“Cor-We. We need him. In the battle.” She sounded almost reluctant.

Cor shook his head, firmly stating, “I could give _two shits_ about how strong he is. If you are uncomfortable or scared of him, I _will_ dispose of him for you.”

For a second she bit her lip, seeming to contemplate his offer before striking it down with a head shake. “ _No_. It’s alright Cor, I can handle him being around.” She firmly stated.

With an exasperated sigh, his hands softly move down her arms and grasped her hands gently. Her kindness was too much sometimes, and he would almost say she was too forgiving, but he knows that wasn’t true. “You shouldn’t _have to_ , Sansa. This is your _home_. You shouldn’t be scared in it.”

Frowning, she argued, “I shouldn’t be scared of him. I _know_ he won’t hurt me, he saved me multiple times.” And in her voice, he picked up a faint fondness in it, as if remembering a good moment.

The sick feeling in his stomach roars up into his chest as he reminded her, voicing rising against his consent. “He also _threatened_ to kill you and forced himself on you!”

She snatched her hands from his, and yelled back, defensive, “But he _saved me_ Cor! From being raped in the Bread Riots, and from many things before and after! _Surely_ I owe him kindness for that?”

Throwing his hands up, frustrated and angry, he argued back, “ _You don’t owe anyone shit_ , _Sansa_! I don’t _understand_ why you are defending him, when you are so _obviously_ terrified of that man. You don’t _owe_ him your kindness, and you _certainly_ don’t owe him your love.”

“‘ _Love_ ’?” She parroted back, looking stunned at his words.

Cor himself didn’t know why he said that, but it’s already out in the open, so staring into her eyes, serious, he told her his theory, “Sansa. That man is in love with you, though I don’t know if the way he acts around you is _actually_ love. He most likely sees you as his redemption from all the shit he’s done in his life. You don’t have to be _anyone’s_ redemption.”

A strange look passed over her face, and she quietly murmured, “ _Aren’t I for you?_ ” The way she slightly backed up from him, and how her cold mask seems to slowly fall into place, Cor could feel the panic rising to his throat.

He opened his mouth but she cut him off before he could speak, continuing on. “You said it yourself, I am your _purpose_ for living. You are putting the weight of redemption on my shoulders _too_. And you’ve saved me multiple times. Do I owe you love for that as well?” She asks, eyes narrowing.

The nausea starts to circle heavily in his stomach, dread weighing him down. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but with the way Sandor used a pet name, and the way that despite her fear, she allowed him too. Maybe... “ _I-Sansa_ , if you _don’t_ want to be with me, than I’m not _forcing_ you.”

That cold mask began to crack, her eyes widening at how broken he sounded. He then steeled his back, trying to hide the way his hands felt clammy, shaking with the heartache he was feeling. Mouth dry, he croaked out, “If you love him, than you should be with him instead. I’m sure his drunken, _self-pitying_ , personality is what truly won over your _empathetic nature._ ” He couldn’t help the vitriol that came with his words. “I’m sure he would be just as loyal to you as I am, not that it’s hard to do to begin with.” He muttered, because, unfortunately, Sansa was so easy to love, it was painful at times.

Once again, her eyes narrowed and she exclaimed, incredulous, “Why are you so upset all of a sudden!? _I love you!_ ”

God, it’s like all the breath had left his lungs, the floor blurring as he said, voice sounding distant in his ears, “Are you _sure_ you do?” He heard his words, so weak to his ears, so desperate. “I mean, I’m only a _commoner_ , someone not worthy of your time. And with all the _adoring masses_ in the North, it shouldn’t be _that hard_ to find another boy to give up _everything_ for you.”

Sansa was completely frozen in place when he turned around and disappeared out the door. Lungs beginning to tighten, and his breathing sounds loud and laboured, he desperately thought of a place to go. Scratch that, his breathing was starting to stutter to a halt. The map of Winterfell appeared in his mind, searching for somewhere nearby that he can have a panic attack in peace. The rookery was too far.

An abandoned room, one floor down, presented it self though, and Cor flung himself into that direction, stumbling down the stairs. One hand balanced on the wall next to him, Cor reached the room within minutes, though it’s too agonisingly long. Flinging the door open, he thumps against it, closing himself into the empty room and slid down to the floor.

Cor tried to remember the exercises to focus your breathing, on how to come back from a panic attack, but all he could hear, pounding in his ears was the conversation with Snow, some days before leaving the Wall with Bran.

_“I don’t think you and Sansa should be together, Leonis.” Snow was upfront with his declaration._

_He humoured the older boy, “That came out of nowhere. What gave you that idea?”_

_Snow spotted how unserious he was taking his words and frowned, “Sansa. She may have changed a lot, but she has always loved pretty things. She wanted to go south to marry a prince. A highborn. It’s not that you aren’t a good man, but I just think that you two would be better without your romantic relationship.”_

_At the time, he found the entire conversation amusing, just pandering to the other’s arrogant belief. “Do you now? And by what right do you have to even have a say in whoever Sansa is with?”_

_That made the anger flash up beneath the frustration, Snow snapping at him, so self-righteous “I’m her family! And I know that her father would want her to be with someone of her station! That’s how it is done here. I don’t know where you are from, but commoners do not marry queens.”_

_Cor had grown cold with anger, and reminded the other with a low tone, “And we both know what happened when her father choose who she should marry.”_

Gods, he sounded so _confident_ in their relationship, trusting her to not care that he was low born in comparison to her. But maybe, _maybe_. She would prefer someone else. Cor was just convenient, a place holder. Someone to protect her until who she truly wanted came back.

The sobs were choking their way out of his throat, as he struggled to breath and cry at the same time. He’s _tried_ to ignore that tiny voice in his head, telling him he would never be good enough, no matter what Sansa said. Like an idiot, he truly believed her, that he was _worth_ something. That he could find love like his mother hoped for him.

But he doesn’t understand where all this insecurity is coming from! Why he suddenly feeling so out of balance. He had thought he had improved on his self-worth issues, making friends and building a new life here. Sobbing into his arms, he heard the castle croon, gentle sympathy wrapping around him, though physically he felt nothing.

Slowly, the cries subsided, and his breathing was less panicked. Like usual, after every panic attack, he felt the need to throw up. Unfortunately, there was no nearby toilet, and once again he cursed weakly at the lack of good plumbing. Wiping at the tear tracks, he took a moment to clean himself up before leaving.

It was still daylight out, and his training with Arya was cut off abruptly. Hoping that it’s not too obvious he was bawling his heart out, Cor headed down to the training area, and found his friends hanging around the fence, observing some practise matches.

On his approach they all lit up, turning to him in greeting, before faces shuttering at the sight of him. Luka was instantly by his side, hoping down from the fence.

“You two fight?” Luka asked, face frowning in concern. ‘ _Of course_ ,’ Cor inwardly sighed, a tired fondness creeping over the lingering pain. ‘ _That would be their first assumption. They’re not wrong, but is it really that obvious?’_

Trying to brush it off, Cor headed to the others and sat on the fence, joking, “Maybe I was just chopping onions.” It fell flat.

Luka, having followed back with him, looked at him imploringly. “ _Cor_...”

Cor couldn’t look at any of them, staring ahead at nothing, and his voice was empty as he brushed off their concern. “It’s nothing. Just, _differences_ in opinion.”

None of the others said anything, but they all seem to shift closer, offering silent support.

Soon though, the problem that caused all this arrived, steps heavy as he came up to the group from behind. Unwillingly, Cor’s shoulders tensed, and with that, the other’s became instantly on guard, turning around to assess and observe the threat, just like how Cor taught them.

Swinging his legs over, he turned as well on the fence, sitting and watching the bigger man approach them. Stopping a few feet away, the man glared, scar making him look angrier.

“So you’re the commander of this army.” The man spat out.

Keeping his face calm despite to growing fire of rage in his chest, Cor cheerfully confirmed, “That’s me.”

“And the little bird’s swornsword.”

Narrowing his eyes slightly at the nickname, the fire burnt brighter as he corrected the man. “I prefer the title Shield, but _yes_ , I am that as well.”

The man scoffed than spat on the dirt, sneering, “You’re a fucking _boy_ is what you are. All wet behind the ears. You’ve probably never even _fucked_ a woman before.”

He had wrinkled his nose in disgust at the spitting, looking down at where it landed below his feet. Then Cor’s eyebrow rose at the man’s words, commenting casually, “I don’t see how _having sex_ has to do with my abilities as a _fighter_.”

A barked, ugly laughter escaped the man’s mouth. “ _Hah_ , that answer is proof enough. Boy leading an army, and hasn’t even gotten his _cock sucked._ ”

Fists clenched on the wooden fence, Cor commented breezily, “ _Oh_ , are we talking about something _other than_ penetrative sex? Because then yes, I have had my dick sucked. I’ve also _done_ the sucking myself a few times.” Cor tacked on, knowing instantly that this man would be homophobic by his entire behaviour.

Just as Cor suspected, a look of disgust crossed his features as he jeered, “You’re a sword swallower.”

Next to him, Talbert tensed at the accusation and the words were out of Cor’s mouth before he could even think them. “If that’s your way of saying I like men, you’re wrong. I’m more interested in the person. Their gender is just a minor detail.” The man seemed to falter at his open admittance to this ‘ _supposed_ ’ sin.

Going in for the kill, Cor smirked, derision seeping into his tone, “You know, all this posturing over fucking makes me wonder if you're compensating for something.”

A growl escaped and the bigger man menacingly stepped closer. “ _The fuck you just said._ ” His breath stank of alcohol, but Cor met his glare with one of equal hate.

Quiet, but no less disdainful, Cor murmured, “Big man, talk a lot of shit. Your _massive_ asshole personality makes me wonder if you’re over compensating with it to hide the _fact,_ that your dick is small.”

Quick reflexes had Cor back-flipping off the fence into the arena as Sandor reached out to grab him. Cor landed, standing poised, ready to fight, and Sandor seemed to agree to that wholeheartedly. The bigger man stalked to the fence,and his friends got out of his way, glares on their faces.

Most of him is focused on Sandor, but a small part of him warmed at the sight of how loyal his friends were too him. At the very least, if Sandor won Sansa over, Cor wouldn’t be completely alone.

The screech of metal exiting it’s sheath had Cor drawing his out as well, standing at the ready. The bigger man had a large broadsword and defiantly knows how to use it as he came charging at Cor, zero hesitation. But the onslaught of attacks did not phase Cor, meeting each blow with his own blade confidently.

The man was a good fighter, Cor had to admit, as their blades crossed, both leaning in to push the other back. Growling lowly, Sandor jeered again, “Heard you and the little bird share a bed. _Surprised_ you haven’t fucked her yet, _boy_.”

Rage boils hot as Cor span out of the way, Sandor stumbling at the lack of force before quickly bringing his sword back up to stop the slash at his unguarded right side. Cor doesn’t reply back, biting back any retort. He knew the man was trying to get a rise out of him, but jokes on Sandor. He was already fuming with rage. 

With a flurry of quick strikes and slashes, he put Sandor on the defence. Frustration on the scarred man’s face, he continued with his taunts, trying to get Cor to misstep. Sandor brought the blade down over-head, Cor blocking it with one hand on his blade, the other still holding the hilt.

“If I was in her bed, she wouldn’t spend a night without a _good. Rough. Fucking._ ” Slowly, he growled out, emphasising each word.

Lowly, he responded, glaring up at the man with his anger an inferno, “If you _think_ I would allow you to treat her that way, you’re a _fucking idiot_. I’d rip your fucking _dick off_ , before you could get _one step_ near her with it.”

With that, Cor pushed the sword off and striked, vision blurring red at the edges.

The man was a good fighter, there was no doubt. But no matter how big or fast the man was, Cor was still better.

Disarming him with a circled, quick movement, the sword flew out of Sandor’s hand, clattering to the ground. Cor then fell into a crouch, sweeping the man off his feet with his leg, catching the man off guard.

Falling heavily, Cor lunged like a predator, landing on top of him, knees on Sandor’s massive arms. But before he could pin the man, Sandor was already punching him in the head and onto the ground. Landing with a grunt, head ringing from the hit, a large hand grabbed at the front of his shirt and dragged him back up, into the air.

Cor, finding purchase with a leg on the man’s chest, kicked upwards with his other one, landing a hit on the older man’s face.

The boy dropped, Sandor’s hand having let go to stumble back from the hit, and landed in a crouch again. Hand still holding his sword, the blade flings outward, and he went in for the kill whilst the man was still distracted.

“ _Enough_.”

The cold voice rings out and Cor instinctively freezes in his tracks at the order, sword held aloft, inches from the other man’s neck. Looking to his right, he spotted Sansa, along with a massive crowd. Her eyes were hard and entire body rigid with hidden rage. Meeting her eyes, his rage slowly dimming, he lowered the sword and drew away from the man.

Sansa moved around to the entrance of the arena too well-mannered to hop over the fence and headed directly for Sandor. The older man sent a smug look in Cor’s direction.

It felt like he had been punched in the stomach, air bursting out of his lungs. With a heart clenching in anguish, Cor could only watch on with a blank face, as Sansa took a gentle hold on Sandor’s chin and looked at his bleeding nose.

Cor watched with _nausea churning_ as she used a handkerchief from her pocket to hold it to the older man’s face. Cor stood to attention, eyes staring ahead at nothing as she murmured to Sandor to go to the maester for help. Heartbreak filled his lungs instead of the much needed air as she fixed her gaze onto Cor and commands, “ _Leonis. With me.”_

Instinct took over and he marched after her, meeting no ones gaze.

As soon as the door shut behind Cor, Sansa whirled around, expression terrifyingly angry.

“ _What in the seven hells was that!?_ ”

Met with her blaze of fury, Cor faltered, “Sansa- _I’m sorry_ -“

She continued over him, disbelief and anger still burning. “You were about to _kill him!_ That wasn’t a simple practise match, Cor!” She pointed out.

Cor looked away, mulishly he muttered, “He was being disrespectful.”

“‘ _Disrespectful_ ’!?” She exclaimed “And you can’t be the _bigger person_ and ignore it?” Sansa suggested, annoyed.

Looking back at her, Cor yelled in defensive of his actions, “ _Not when it’s about you_! Or about my _friends_! I can handle _plenty of shit_ coming my way, but when he inadvertently insulted _Talbert?_ Or the _things_ he was saying about-“ Cor choked on his words, cutting himself off.

With narrowed eyes she probed him to continue, suspicious. Impatient. “About _what_ , Cor? _What_ was he saying?”

Stuttering, Cor struggled to get the words out, “ _He-It was_.” He then paused, taking a deep breath and looked down at the stone floor, easier then meeting her gaze. “He was wondering why we haven’t had sex yet. Or was surprised we weren’t. And. And I could deal with that, people have been saying shit like that for months. But then _he_. He said that if he was in my place. ‘ _She wouldn’t spend a night without a good, rough, fucking.’_ ” Repeating the words left a sick taste on his tongue, disgusted with the older man and his foul behaviour.

Silence descended around them, and Cor finally took a peek up at her expression. It was mildly ill and uncomfortable, which Cor took minor relief in.

“ _Sansa_. What do you _see_ in him?” He whispered into the quiet room.

Closing her eyes, Sansa sighed, sounding exhausted. “I don’t _love_ him Cor.”

Weak hope tries to bloom in his chest, but Cor swallows it back, hoarsely responding, “Is that why you look at him so fondly. Or why you allow him to call you that name. Or why you went to him _first_ after the match?”

“ _Cor_...” She trailed off, looking beseechingly at him. Closing his eyes, Cor tried to focus on that nausea that he had been feeling and finally, it occurred to him what it was, having never truly felt it this strongly before.

Cor let out a pathetic laugh, more of a breath of air. “ _Heh_ , I just realised why I’m feeling so sick now. _I’m jealous_.” His throat hoarse.

He could feel his eyes becoming wet, as his hands came up to clench at his shirt in front of his stomach. A soft, sad sigh left Sansa’s lips as she took a quick few steps forward, taking his hands into her’s, uncurling his fists gently. They mirrored from their argument earlier.

“Cor, you have _nothing_ to be jealous about.” She firmly reassured him.

A wet choke, and he croaks out, “Don’t I?”

Letting one hand go, Sansa brought her right one up and cupped his face gently, getting him to look at her. “Cor. I went to him first because he was the _quickest_ to deal with. Because I _knew_ we needed to fix whatever caused our argument. I don’t know _who_ put these thoughts in your head, but _I love you._ I _don’t_ love Sandor, or any other possible choice. _It’s you_. I shouldn’t have said that you were similar to him, placing your redemption on me. Because you _haven’t_. You’ve grown _so much_ , become more than just relying on me for a purpose.” She smiled encouragingly and Cor let out a weak laugh.

_“I know_. I know that, and I have seen that. I’ve made _friends_ , for the first time Sansa. And it’s _terrifying_.” He whispered, voice trembling. He did know how far he’s come. When he built relationships, it was either acquaintances or a ride-or-die relationship. He loved _intensely_ , and making casual friendships was hard. Though he would fight for his friends and certainly die if need be, he is finding that he isn’t so extreme with his emotions.

But now, he had people he could call casual friends, like Beth or Arya. They had one or two topics that were in common but neither would be someone he would go to for anything personal. But that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy their simple friendships.

Cor took another deep breath, and acknowledged the hurtful words he spoke to Sansa. He leant into her warm hand and sincerely apologised. 

“And I _shouldn’t_ have insulted you in saying that you could make anyone fall for you. I made it sound like, like you were someone who is _careless_ of other’s feelings. Made it sound like you were _flippant_ with your _own_ , when I _know you’re no_ t. I was upset, and _shouldn’t_ have gotten angry and lashed out like that.”

Her eyes are honest, an ocean blue that gazed at him such deep understanding of him as a person. “Cor. Whether you are some lord or commoner or _anything_ in between, I _don’t care_. It is your _heart_ that I love. _Annnnd_ you are _also_ my age, Sandor is _at least_ 25.” She noted at the end, grimacing.

Snorting weakly, he agreed. “ _Too_ old for you.” He mumbled.

“ _Exactly_.” Sansa nodded solemnly.

Cor’s smile was feeling more genuine as he admitted to another wrong doing earlier, “I _shouldn’t_ have been possessive. You _aren’t_ a possession, you’re your own person.”

Her eyes crinkled, pleased at him recognising his mistakes. Because this time, it was him that reacted irrationally, not thinking things through and airing out his insecurities in the worst way possible.

“Come now, let’s look at that bruise on you head.”

That evening, they laid in bed facing one another, as Sansa whispered in the fading candle light.

“Do you know why he calls me ‘ _little bird’?”_

He had shook his head, waiting for her response. She wet her lips before speaking in the same, low voice. “In King’s Landing, Cersei would call me ‘ _little dove_ ’. A sweet, innocent, weak creature.Exactly how everyone saw me. And when I was held captive, Sandor called me ‘ _little bird_ ’ because I was ‘ _like the birds of the southern isles. Singing sweet tunes, repeating everything they say_ ’. That is what he said. And he was _right_. I was held prisoner, in a golden cage. A little _bird_.”

For a moment, they were silent, and then Cor made a face. “Kind of insulting that he continues to call you that.”

Sansa blinked, bewildered. “What do you mean?”

He rose an eyebrow and explained. “Sansa. At the beginning, it was like he was making fun of you, _mocking you_ , for trying to _survive_ , and that was a dick move. There is _nothing wrong_ with trying to keep your captors pleased so that you wouldn’t get harmed. _It makes sense_. And then, to continue calling you it, like you are _still_ that person? One, that’s _very insulting_ to you as both a person, _and_ a queen. And two, what _right_ does he have to judge you for _trying to survive_?”

He felt more than saw Sansa shuffle between the small gap and kiss him gently on the lips, whispering, “ _Thank you, Cor_.”

He happily returned the gesture but felt lost. “You’re welcome?” He offered.

This time, he saw her react, now closer. A grateful smile. “For standing up for me. For trying to _protect_ me.”

‘ _Jon,_

_I write to you not as your queen or head of house Stark, but as your sister. How dare you put such harsh thoughts into Cor’s mind. He is a better man than any I have ever met, and none would ever compare to him. I do not need a husband of high status because I am a queen, who will marry whomever she wished._

_Cor was right, that father chose badly in my first betrothal, and I do not care if he would disapprove of my love for Cor. You had no right to bring up father and what his opinion of our relationship would be, and you had no right to insult Cor in such a way._

_You are family, yes, that is true. But I’m done with men who think they know better, choosing who I should love or marry. Trying to chose my path in my own life._

_Your sister,_

_Sansa.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, imma say it. I fucking hate SanSan. It’s disgusting, it’s abusive. It’s paedophilic. And it grosses me out. I remember reading some post that was supposed to be supporting the relationship and pointing Why he loves her with all this evidence. All I saw was evidence that he had a weird unhealthy love for her, and it was abusive.
> 
> Cor’s reaction may seem out of fucking no where, but hey, sometimes emotions are like that. And jon’s words had festered without him really realising. He was in the wrong, but luckily, they talked it out like mature people. After Cor nearly killed sandor.
> 
> Also, bran’s theory on why cor and sansa visited each other was the best one I could come up with. Take is as you will
> 
> Until next time, thank you for reading!


	35. Last preparations and news

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragonglass arrives along with a few other filler scenes

_2 months later_

Stood on the battlements, Cor observed as the men who were sent to Dragonstone wheeled their carts into Winterfell. The weight of all the glass had the wood creaking, and the horses pulling it slow moving.

Eight months had passed since the initial order to travel to the island and start mining, and Cor was fairly impressed by how quick they managed to get the materials. With the tunnels past the Wall finished, and all the Small folk evacuated, all that’s left was to continue with training the army and forging the weapons.

Jeyne had been very helpful with collecting the numbers for the amount, with Tormund helping in the Gift, and the Night’s Watch preparing their own numbers, so that the blacksmiths now have the list of how much they were making.

There was the issue, that Cor found out a day later, that the blacksmiths had never worked with dragonglass. For a split second, Cor was panicking, before one of Stannis’ men had stepped forward and presented notes that he had found in the maester’s office in Dragonstone. Apparently, the soldier’s father was a blacksmith, and thought to look for any scrolls or information on how to forge this unknown material. Luckily, there were some. Cor then also had to put in the schematics for how to make his sword, wanting it to be of similar shape and weight as his own katanas. Leaving the Genji blade with them for reference, Cor carried on with his other duties.

Everything was on track, with just the last bits of prep and so much more waiting until Bran _Sees_ the Night King on the move. The boy had been tracking the enemy, and said he was still gathering more into his army. When Cor stated that he thought all the Free folk had moved behind the Wall, Bran shook his head.

There were some tribes that didn’t want to leave, believing they could fight off the Night King themselves. However, Bran didn’t seemed too upset at those that stayed behind. Apparently they were a bunch of cannibals, to which Cor thought that was a lucky miss, to not have such people in their home.

Still, despite the undead being an army that doesn’t need to sleep or eat, they were kinda slow walkers. Giving them about maybe, 4-5 months until the battle, Cor guessed.

For their army, Cor had moved onto actually practising manoeuvres outside the walls of Winterfell, needing as much space as possible. They had the numbers of 20,000 soldiers from the North. 3,000 from Stannis. 18,000 Knights of the Vale. And then an added 1,000 of Small folk that joined to learn archery. With 3,000 Free folk, and 200 men at the Night’s Watch.

Against, according to Bran, 90,000 undead.

Cor would say they were _fucked_ , but that would be terrible for morale. But you had to account in the fact that Cor also had an army of only 100 or so ghosts, and despite the small numbers, they couldn’t die. So that was a bonus. If Cor summoned Gil, then they would have a _massive_ advantage as well.

But back to the training, they had a large amount of people to train, to the point Cor had to have different classes, same topics, different people, rotating so that the great hall wouldn’t be over crowded. But physical training had moved to outside the walls, the massive fields providing plenty of space.

And then there was the team to fight the Night King and his generals. Cor was calling them, in his head, Elite Bastards. Elite because they were the best, besides him, that they had. And because they were the bastards who wouldn’t have to fight hoards of the undead. Granted they had the job to fight the Night King, but that was only five enemies. And there was ten of them. Brienne, Jon, Sandor, Macel, Tormund, and one of his people, Karsi, a spearwife. Alysane Mormont volunteered and Arya tried too as well, but Sansa shut her down. Talbert would’ve joined them, but he wanted to stay with Cor and Luka on the main battlefield. So Cor had four of his own people to volunteer, not forcing them. Ava, a previous sex worker, was happy to join, along with Samson, Mathias, and Nikolas. Once they all volunteered. Cor proceeded to put them through a more rigorous private training, not wanting them to die too soon for their bravery fighting a more skilled opponent than the regular undead.

Hopefully, with them attacking the Night King, that meant the battle wouldn’t go on for too long, However, they had to _find_ the Night King first. Bran then offered to guide them, warging in a bird to help, which Sansa allowed.

Cor had to say he was _mildly_ jealous that he couldn’t do that, an ability that is more _born_ _in_ than acquired. So even with his connection to Sansa’s magic, he would be unable to that.

With his magic, he had been experimenting in is own free time, thinking about what Gilgamesh said about his innate ability to use magic. He found it was easier to use magic when it’s from an outside source, so Regis, or Sansa. He does know that there was his own magic too, but it’s like a muscle not worked properly. Like someone whose lungs had collapsed, needing a machine to stimulate the movement, the muscles become dependant, struggling to do the motions themselves.

So Cor needed to learn how to breath again, _metaphorically_. Before Regis, and King Mors, he never used magic from his own person, believing, like many, that magic only existed in the royal bloodline and the Oracles.

However, Cor was _absolutely certain_ he had used it before. He could enhance his speed and strength, something he learnt with the King’s magic, but before that. How could a seven year old push off a fully grown man pinning him down? How could a twelve year old boy fight back from being pushed under water, and managed to _slit_ his father’s _throat_? He was a skilled fighter, but a child’s strength against an _adult’s_? The winner was obvious.

So he had been flexing the muscle, trying not to rely on Sansa’s magic, just incase something cuts it off somehow. Using her magic first to get a feel of his own, he, like weaning someone off drugs, did it in small amounts.

Easier said than done, as his magic was reliant on a stronger source aiding it. But Cor was no quitter, and he was a prodigy in anything combat related. He flourished in it. Learning to fight with his own magic was an uphill struggle, but he had managed it anyways. He was _Cor the Fucking Immortal_. _The Ghost Commander._ Nothing would stop him if he wanted something bad enough.

Training in his magic ended up requiring more meditation than he’d thought, sitting in the bowels of the castle. The pulse of Suha glowing in time with his breathing helped guide him into a trance. Unlike Sansa’s magic, which felt like a weirdly warm snow storm, or the Kings of Lucis magic, burning bright, like a too hot flame. His own magic was like strong gusts of air. _A hurricane_. Volatile, uncontrollable, it would beat against a barrier until it fell. Unstoppable, continuously flowing, changing.

The more he trained the more he realised that he wouldn’t be able to use different elements like Mya, or See into the past and present like Gil. His magic was built specifically for combat, probably coming from his mother’s side. And along with being able to enhance his body, his instincts became off the charts.

He was starting to be known for reading the minds of his troops, but the reality was that his instincts were telling him when his soldiers were getting up to some shit they shouldn’t be. Or when one of them was sick or injured, he immediately knew. Knowing who was lying, who was a spy or untrustworthy. He was already good with people reading, but now it was stronger ten-fold. And in many ways, he thought that it was better magic than being able to throw around some _lightening_.

With the dragonglass now here, Sansa had noticed that the overhanging dread of the battle to come had become heavier. Her people were solemn, but now it was too serious. Not that she blamed them for it, she too had become less willing to allow for mistakes when it came to taking stock, shipping in food from Essos of all places. With the divide between the North and the rest of the kingdoms, they weren’t getting the food they needed.

Their stores were running low, so Lord Manderly had suggested months back to buy from Essos like he did at times, using his ships again. Sansa was starting to panic about how she would repay the man, seeing as his first son was dead, his second already married, and then two daughters. She would be happy to take the girls on as guards or her maids in waiting. But Lord Manderly was technically unmarried now, wife having died. And though he was a nice enough man, he was old enough to be her _father_ , and, not a very attractive man either.

Sansa wasn’t ashamed to admit that she was still vain enough to want to be with someone who was attractive.

But for now, she put all those thoughts out of her mind, needing to focus on more important tasks than future marriage.

Like the fact that Bran had just reported that Daenerys Targaryen and her army had just landed in Dragonstone. The lords that were there were in uproar, especially Stannis.

“How can she _claim_ the Iron Throne when the Targaryen Dynasty is _over_!?” Stannis growled, incredulous and angry.

“She has been taught that Robert Baratheon was the Usurper, and that she is the rightful ruler of Westeros.” Bran informed the angry man, taking the rage calmly as he was now wont to do. At times Sansa grieved over the cheerful boy that he used to be, but tragedy had a sad way of ageing children in ways that they shouldn’t have to.

“She’s a _fucking_ idiot is what she is.” Cor sighed next to her, rubbing at his temples and leaning back in his chair. “Doesn’t she understand the _Right of Conquest_?” He asked with disbelief.

Sansa was mildly surprised that he supported that law, as she knew he was very much against many of the other laws of her land. Maybe this was one he approved of, seeing as it involved some kind of combat?

“Granted,” Cor continued, “Having her niece and nephew slaughtered, and then exiled from her family’s home was _pretty shitty,_ but wasn’t she just born when her and her brother fled?” He then pointed out, looking to the rest of them for confirmation.

Stannis nodded, grim. “That is correct. Her mother Rhaenys died at child birth.”

Cor grimaced but huffed another sigh, nodding in understanding. “So now she has delusions of grandeur after being told by her _lunatic_ brother that they are the true rulers, and plans to _conquer_ Westeros again with her three dragons. Didn’t she already conquer places in Essos?” He snarked rhetorically.

Bran hadn’t picked up the sarcasm though, informing Cor factually, “Yes, first Astapor, gaining 8,000 Unsullied soldiers, and ordering them to kill all the save masters and free the slaves. Then Yunkai, were she captured the city and freed the slaves. They call her Mhysa. _Mother_ , for freeing them. And lastly, Meereen. She had declared herself it’s queen, but uprising followed. Many pervious slaves wanted to be resold, needing food and shelter. A group of mercenaries tried to have her killed.”

Silenced reigned around the room before Cor muttered in frustration, “So, she is a _conqueror_ , not a ruler.”

Lady Alysane sharply turned to Bran and demanded, “How many men _does_ she have?”

The boy answered immediately, “60,000 Dothraki horsemen, 8,000 Unsullied, and three dragons.”

“How do you defeat _dragons_?” Lord Royce questioned, though there was uncertainty in his voice after hearing those numbers. The North wouldn’t be able to handle an attack, what with all their focus north of the Wall.

“Projectiles.” Cor suddenly declared. They all turn to him, as he stood from his chair. Taking a scrap of parchment and a charcoal pencil, he began to sketch out a design whilst he spoke. “We have trebuchets and catapults. Do we have large cross bows?” He asked, briefly looking up around the room at their blank or apprehensive faces.

“‘ _Large cross bows?_ ’” Laurence Snow parroted.

With an exasperated sigh, he tapped on his drawing and showed it to them as Cor confirmed, “Yeah, with massive arrows that are basically large spears. More accurate than catapults.”

They all gather closer, looking at the drawing, some aphrehnsive, whilst others looking interested. Lord Royce seemed to have expected Cor’s insane ideas, but even this one had him looking a strange mixture of bewildered and exasperated. “You are suggesting we _shoot down_ the dragons.” It’s a statement not a question, already knowing the answer.

Frowning in confusion, Cor shrugged, “Of course? Did you just _hope_ they would role over and die? It’s like with the undead, we had to craft a weapon that could kill them. The dragons are no different, but luckily, they don’t need a specific metal or material to kill them. _Hell_ , if one wasn’t flying I would just straight up charge at it, I’ve taken down bigger monsters.”

He spoke of killing dragons so dismissively that it had Stannis squinting at the boy and asking,

“Where did you say you were from?”

“West, why?” Cor blithely responded. No one really was able to say anything to that answer, so the conversation was quickly brought back to the main topic. Sansa spied a hidden smirk of amusement on Cor’s face and discreetly rolled her eyes, fondly amused as well.

“Though this threat is important, she still has Tywin Lannister to get through.” Stannis muttered, and Sansa’s heart clenched at the name. ‘ _Gods I hate that man_.’ She had thought, viciously as the people around her continued to talk.

“The most important thing right now, is the Night King.” Sansa reminded them, bringing them back on track. “When that is over, we can begin proper discussions about the South. As long as she is not coming here to attack us yet, we will be silent and wait.”

“She wants the leaders to bend the knee.” Bran reminded her, which had Cor retorting angrily.

“Yeah, well, she can fuck off. We don’t take orders from terrorists, nor do we have time to indulge an arrogant child in her moronic ploys to the throne.” Cor snapped, obviously becoming frustrated this new problem.

Sansa agreed at his words, however, unfortunately things wouldn’t work out the way they planned on that matter. Three weeks later, Sansa received a scroll with the Targaryen sigil on it’s seal. Maester Wolkan came to her nervously in her solar, whilst she worked on paperwork with Cor. They looked up at his knock and entrance, setting aside their numbers of weapons made so far with the dragonglass.

“Your grace, a message came to you.” He shuffled over, and handed it to her. Sansa was bemused at first at his nerves, but when she saw the seal, her stomach dropped heavily. Cor and her shared a look before she broke the seal and unrolled it.

“That, is a _lot_ of titles.” Cor remarked after a silent pause of them reading the demands on the scroll. He seemed very unimpressed, taking the scroll after she finished reading so that he could look over it too.

Looking up blankly, not staring at anything in particular, Sansa deadpanned, “She _commands_ me to meet her and _bend the knee._ ” Though despite how empty her voice sounded, her fists trembled. ‘ _The gall of the woman_.’ Sansa thought, furious.

Cor snorted in disgust, tossing the letter onto the desk, “Tell her to _fuck off._ ”

Her lips quirked and she spotted Maester Wolkan cough into his fist, hiding his back own humour. “ _Unfortunately_ , that would be ill-mannered.” Sansa informed Cor, though she did like the idea of it.

He rolled his eyes and offered an alternative with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Fine. Tell her a plague has hit the North and you can’t come until it’s died down. Which may take a while.”

Both turned to Cor, and Wolkan breathed out in disbelief, “Do you think that would _work_?”

Cor just shrugged indifferently, “Best to try.”

Sansa hummed in contemplation and then reached for her quill and a blank piece of parchment. She penned out a shot missive:

‘ _Queen Daenerys Targaryen,_

_Unfortunately I am unable to meet with you, as there is a plague ravaging the Northern lands, and it would be unwise to meet until I am sure that it has died down. When the quarantine has lifted on my castle, I will be willing to meet and discuss your ruling._

_Regards,_

_Sansa of House Stark, Queen of the North and Lady of Winterfell.’_

She didn’t really wish to waste ink on all the titles that the other woman had, so just the short, self-proclaimed on would do. After sealing the scroll and handing it over the Maester Wolkan who bowed and left, Cor commented, amused, “I find it funny that you only have _two_ actual titles.”

Resting her chin on her hand, she looked up to him from her seated position, and informed the boy, “My actual titles are much longer, but unlike her, I’m not _trying_ to flaunt them because she is insecure with her ruling. _I_ am not. I _know_ that I am Queen of the North, and there is no one in the North that denies it.” Sansa finished confidently, but Cor startled a little.

“Wait, you have _more_ titles?” He blurted out.

Sansa blinked owlishly, and asked, “You would like to hear them?” Knowing he hated standing on formality.

He considered it for a few seconds before shrugging, “ _Eh_ , might need to say them when introducing you to the ‘ _Mother of Dragons_ ’.”

With a small smile, she sighed and began to list her titles. “Sansa of House Stark, Queen of the North and the First men. Lady of Winterfell and Protector of the North. Lady Bolton of the Dreadfort, and The Queen of Winter. And during the time my brother was king, I was Princess Sansa of House Stark.” She tacked on at the end.

“I like your titles better.” He stated imperiously, “‘ _The Unburnt’, ‘Breaker of Chains_ ’. What does that _even mean_?” Face screwed up in confusion, Sansa snorted.

“Most likely titles from the fact that the Targaryens are less likely to get burnt from fire.” Sansa drawled in thought, tapping the end of her quill softly on the desk. “Their magic involving dragons make them like that. And with her freeing slaves, she is the _Breaker of Chains._ ”

“ _Presumptuous_.”

“Indeed.”

That evening, they crawled into bed and Sansa had a question playing on her mind for the last few months. She had seen how Cor still treated Sandor with hostility, though still polite, seeing as his soldiers would follow his lead and do the same. She had thought things would improve, but maybe she had been too hopeful. Maybe Cor was still insecure with her relationship with Sandor.

Since the argument, she decided it would be best if her and the older man didn’t interact so much. And the fact was that she didn’t really want to spend much time around the angry man, too many bad memories coming back when he was nearby.

Shuffling in bed, she laid down to face him, her hands curled under her chin and pillow. She met his grey-blue eyes and whispered gently, “Cor. Are you still, _unsure_ , with me feelings for you?”

From relaxed to tense he stared wide-eyed at her question, hesitating over his words. “ _I_ -“

Quickly she tried to sooth his worries, hand reaching across the small gap and taking his. “And _please_ answer honestly. I need to know if I haven’t shown you how much I love you enough.”

Brow furrowed and insisted, “Sansa, it’s _fine_. You do enough.”

She huffed in frustration, “Obviously not if you feel so insecure in our relationship that you were jealous of Sandor.”

His face seemed to become stone cold at her words, so she began to lay out her feelings in front of him as sincerely as possible, desperate for him to understand. “Cor. I love you so much, I don’t think you truly _understand_ how much your love encompasses my life. When I have to make a hard decision, I think ‘ _How would Cor react?_ ’ Because you are one of the most important people in my life, and your opinion _matters_ to me. I think about how _ecstatic_ you get over talking about swords or battle theory with other soldiers. I think about how kind you, how amazingly _patient_ you are with your students. I think about how much you’ve improved on dealing with water, how strong you are, fighting against your fear.”

Her hand squeezed his tightly as she continued shyly, “I think about your hands sometimes, how large they are and how _safe_ I feel when they are on me. So often I had larger hands on me, _beating me, touching me with out my permission_ , and then your hands? They don’t cause me any fear.”

Her hand then travelled up his arm and to his face, cupping it sweetly. Both their eyes were becoming wet with her speech, Cor overwhelmed by her affection, and her with how much her heart ached for him to know how much he meant to her. So much about this relationship was him helping her, but he needed support too. “I think about the future, and how I pray to the gods that we live so I may have a family with you. So that I can spend the _rest of my life_ waking up next to you.”

Sansa watched as he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, as if it pained him to hear her words. His breathing had become hitched and shaky, shoulders faintly trembling in the face of her love. “I think about how you _complain_ about the lack of using chemical warfare in the battle to come, how the undead won’t appreciate your wish for mustard gas. I think about how you can go on long tangents about _birds_!” She let out a laugh and he weakly tried to defend himself, words choking up,

“ _Hey_ , pigeons are super cool, okay! They have this amazing homing ability-“

Cutting him off with more laughter, she grinned widely at him, pulling him closer across the bed. Holding him hard against her she exclaimed fondly, “ _I know!_ You went on for hours on how _fantastic_ you think pigeons are and _I love you_ for that! I love how you treat the women in your army so fairly, and you never discourage others for trying their best. I love how much you’ve _grown_ as a leader! I see how much the army loves you, _trusts_ you fully. You _inspire_ people Cor, and it’s magnificent to watch.”

Pulling back so he could look into her eyes, and see the truth written out plainly in them. She leant in close and whispered to his lips, “Cor, Sandor _could never_ hold a candle to your sunlight. _Never_.”

It was a three months later that Bran came to Sansa. The Night King was on the move, and they maybe one month until he arrived at the Wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, ladies in waiting wasn’t entirely correct in the show and books. Maids/maidens in waiting was the unmarried women. Lady was for those that were married.  
> And dany is mentioned! Hurray...no one is impressed with her, least of all Cor.  
> And finally, the battle is here. Well, almost here. Still another chapter before the real battle, which will be a long chapter. And sadly, i didn’t make my goal, of finishing the story before inktober, so updates will slow down as I write my prompts.   
> Thank you for reading! until next time.


	36. The night before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations and goodbyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Flash back to pycelle touching sansa with the excuse of ‘medical examinations’

It was like all those months hadn’t prepared them for the sheer _chaos_ that came. After Bran had informed her, she immediately had servants sending out a message and gathering everyone into the courtyard, as the great hall would not be large enough for everyone in Winterfell. She had stood on the steps into the castle and looked over the sea of faces. These were her people, and now she had to send a majority of them off to die. Though her stomach churned like she needed to vomit, she swallowed back the bile and stood strong. Standing in front of them, in her plain grey, wool-spun dress, she still stood strong like a queen should.

“The Night King is on the move and in a month’s time, he will be at the Wall.” She informed them, her voice loud, carrying her words across the courtyard. The absolutely dreadful silence was thick and heavy on her shoulders. “This was everything we have prepared for, and tomorrow, the army will head out to the Wall, needing to be there as soon as possible. Following will be the Blacksmiths with the last of the dragonglass, as some weapons still need to be finished and the Night’s Watch forge will be open for your use.”

Taking a deep breath, she forged on, trying to stay strong. “Over the last months, food has also been shipped there and stored, ready for the army. And when the army arrives at the Wall, the Free folk will be sending their own people who need shelter from the battle to here for safety. I _understand_ differences are hard to over come, and history has shown much hatred, but we were one kingdom once, before the Wall. And we will continue to be one after the battle.”

Murmurs of agreement met her ears, but they were weak. No pretty speech would truly rouse anyone’s confidence, especially with the fact that they are going to fight an almost unbeatable army. But she would try, because they were her people, and in some ways, the monarch was supposed to be a parent to her kingdom. These were her children, marching off to war. _She would not falter_.

“The Long Night is on the horizon, and I will do my very best to see that we do not fall in the face of it. To my soldiers, you have the very best commander leading you, and I have every belief in him and your training, that you _will_ win. Death, unfortunately, _is_ inevitable. But that does not mean those that fall, that their _sacrifice_ will be _forgotten_. _No one_ will be forgotten.” She vowed. And she meant it. She would not allow it to be anything else.

“Winter has come.” She declared solemnly, wrapping up her speech, “And the wolves howl against our enemies. _Stay strong, and stand tall, my friends._ ”

After that everyone sprung into action, prepping to leave. Servants scurried about, helping soldiers pack their clothes and pack for the long trip. Stable hands were checking over the horses and any last minute prep needed for the animals. Sansa tried her best to meet with every soldier if possible, giving out words of comfort and encouragement. Making promises to look after their families if they should fall in battle.

At one point, her She-wolves found her, faces serious and determined. “Sansa,” Mya began, “I wish to have your permission to leave and fight with them. I know I am mainly your guard, but I feel that I would be better suited on the front lines.”

Sansa looked at the faces of her friends, Lyn, Ellina, and Mya, and it was obvious what they wanted. It was written clearly on their faces. They came far from their home to her’s, loyalty pushing them. “Is that how you both feel as well?” Referring to the other two girls. Both nodded, a grim earnest.

“But, if yer wantin’ us to stay, we will, yer grace.” Ellina answered, and the other’s nodded in agreement again.

“It would be selfish of me to ask for you to stay and be safe with me behind Winterfell’s walls. But, if this is what you wish, then you may fight.” Sansa declared, though she could feel her emotions starting to overwhelm her again.

Lyn dramatically wailed and threw her arms around Sansa, Ellina joining in with Mya wrapping her expansive arms around all of them. ‘ _Please_ ,’ Sansa prayed, desperately. ‘ _Keep them safe.’_

All the soldiers were going off to fight with clothing imbued with her protective magic, so she hoped they will be safe and alive, returning as whole as possible.

Arya found her whilst she and Jeyne were over seeing a large cart being filled with sacks of dried meats and fruits. She had the same determined expression her girls had and knew exactly what her sister would be asking. Without looking away from her clipboard, she quickly shot her sister down. “ _Absolutely not_ , Arya.”

Spluttering, her sister cried out, “But that isn’t _fair_ Sansa! I _want_ to fight too!’

The men she was trying to talk to shuffled awkwardly, having to hear an argument between the two sisters. Sansa turned fully to her sister, “You are princess of the North. You are _too important_ to fight in the battle.”

“But _Robb_ fought in his battles!”

Her hands tensed on her board as she gritted out, frustrated, “That was _different_.”

“ _How!?_ ” Arya yelled back, not backing down. At this point, Jeyne had shuffled the men away, carrying on with the discussion. With an aggravated sigh, Sansa rubbed at her temples.

“Because he was older and had more experience than you.” She pointed out.

Her normally pale face was red with anger as she spat out, “I have the same amount of experience as your friends and they are fighting too!”

“ _You are my sister!_ ” Sansa snapped, louder than intended. The courtyard slowed in the preparations, curious to watch the family drama unfold. Sansa took a deep breath, and quieted her voice, hissing to her sister, “And I will _not_ be having _another_ family member die. So you will not be fighting with the army. _Do I make myself clear, Arya?”_

Instead of keeping it down, as Sansa had tried, Arya just yelled back her response. “ _Fine_!” She then proceeded to storm off, many people darting out of her way.

With a tired groan, Sansa thumped her head against her clipboard, feeling Jeyne come back over and started to rub her back soothingly.

“Did I do the right thing?” Sansa mumbled to her friend.

Humming in thought, her friend replied, “As a ruler, yes. But as a sister? Maybe not.”

Incredulous, she sent a frustrated look her way, “So, what, I should let her go out there, _risking_ her life!?”

Sternly, not taking any of Sansa’s nonsense, Jeyne reminded her, “Isn’t that what _everyone else_ is doing, Sansa?”

Guilt crashed over her, remembering that some people didn’t have the choice to back out of the fight, no matter what their loved ones would wish. Exhaling, Sansa muttered, ashamed at her self, “I’m being selfish. The She-wolves aren’t staying behind, so I want Arya to be.”

Jeyne nodded understandingly, “Sansa. She is a capable fighter, and works well with the other women. She is a _survivor_ , she can do this.”

Wrapping her arms around her friend, she mumbled into her neck, mournful and tired, “I just don’t want to loose anymore family, Jeyne.”

A quiet breath and Jeyne hugged her tighter, “I know, Sansa. I know.”

Sansa ended up searching for her sister later, hoping the time given had allowed Arya to cool down from their fight. On the hunt, she ran into a puffing Beth, who was helping to carry weapons to and from the blacksmiths. Before Sansa could open her mouth to ask, the girl said, “She’s in the bowels of the castle.”

With a quick thanks, Sansa headed in the direction of the kitchens. It was bustling like a feast was that very night, the head cook red face and stern, carrying out orders like a commander over a battle field. Ducking her head down, Sansa scurried into the pantry and down the hidden staircase to the hot springs.

Suha seemed to thrum with anxious worry for the people inside her walls. If she had a human body again, she would be pacing about, nervously wringing her hands. On the stairs, Sansa came to a halt and then leant into the castle wall.

Sansa spread her arms across the flat surface like she was trying to hug the castle, and Suha crooned back, a soft, _sad_ cry. Suha was mourning the lives that were not going to return, having known each and everyone of them in the time she’s had.

It felt like the time she was feeling and seeing Suha’s life, watching all the past Starks living and dying. Sansa reached out and metaphorically grasped the castle’s hands, and gave her a soft, reassuring kiss on the wall in font of her.

Pulling away, a soft breeze groaned through the hallway and brushed her cheeks, returning the affectionate gesture.

With a sad smile, Sansa continued on her path to reach Arya.

She found her sister sitting on the edge of the hot spring, bare feet and breeches pushed up to her knees, legs dunked into the warm water. The beautiful pulsing glow of Suha’s heart was a comfort. When she entered the room, Arya hadn’t turned to look at her, so Sansa softly sighed and began to undo her own laced boots.

Pulling off her stockings, Sansa hefted her heavy, woollen skirt and sat next to her sister. Sighing again, this time at the soothing temperature of the water, Sansa stared into the depths of the spring.

It’s too dark at the bottom, but for a second Sansa tried to search for Suha’s preserved body. As she was doing so, a weight settled itself on Sansa’s shoulder and she forced herself not to tense, startled. Peeking to the right, she spotted the unsure expression on her sister’s face, so Sansa fully relaxes and leant her own head on Arya’s

“I’m sorry I snapped at you.” Sansa murmured.

A pause, before Arya grudgingly admitted, “I _knew_ I wouldn’t be allowed to go. _But_...”

“You _hoped_ you would.” She finished for her.

“Yeah.”

Taking time to really think about how she spoke, Sansa began slowly, “I want you to listen closely, because what I say is important.” She paused, waiting for the soft head shake on her shoulder before continuing. “I love you _dearly_ , Arya. No matter how much we fight, you are my only sister, and though I love all of you, it is _you_ I wish to have the most strongest relationship with. You also understand how unfair the world is to our gender, and how much our father messed up. How much _both of us_ wanted to be different people. And I do not want to make anymore mistakes that will cost this family.”

Nibbling at her lip, Arya took her time to speak. “I love father. _I do_ but, when you pointed it out...” Arya trailed off, and Sansa exhaled again. She had been sighing a lot lately.

Wrapping her arm around Arya’s back, she hugged her sister close. “Yeah. It’s difficult.”

“I wish Robb was here sometimes.” Arya confessed, and tears slowly began to rise in Sansa’s eyes.

Throat choking up, she mumbled back, “I do too.”

“Why didn’t he marry Roslin Frey like he was supposed too?” Arya sounded so lost, so unsure, that her heart clenched, knowing this was something she too asked herself.

“He fell in love.” Sansa whispered, though it didn’t feel like the best explanation despite it being the truth, feeling weak and not a good enough reason for forsaking his family and kingdom.

“ _Oh_.” And Arya sounded so disappointed, so lost, that their brother’s downfall was ignoring his duty for love. Sansa though, could understand why he would do it, but maybe it’s because she had duty so instilled in her, that even if she loved Cor so dearly, if it came to protecting her kingdom, she too would marry another.

However, she will not let her brother be only remembered by love being his failing. Sadly, it was more than just his bad decision for marriage. “But his death was more than that. He went back on an agreement, and in doing so, slowly lost the faith the North had in him. There was more of course, but, I loved him. I do. But he and mother, and father. They all made _stupid_ mistakes against those who were better players in the game. And we all paid for it.”

“I _hate_ the game.” Arya mumbled, quiet though it wasn’t any less hate filled.

“Me too.”

Sansa’s feet moved in the water, gently swishing the water around, Arya joining in. That sat in an easy silence, basking in each other’s company. Finally though, Sansa had to inform her sister of her changed opinion. “You may go with the army to the Wall, Arya.” She whispered, as if hoping her sister might not hear the allowance she made for her.

Sadly, she did, exclaiming in joy. “What? _Really_!?” The water splashed as she turned to look at Sansa.

With sad eyes, Sansa explained, “I don’t understand _why_ you are so excited to watch the people you know and trained with die in battle, but if that is what you truly wish, then. Well, you are _willing_ to marry for my sake, and I will allow you fight because you wish to.”

Then she glared in mock anger, “But don’t you go _dying on me_ just to get out of your marriage, you understand me!?”

“ _Pfft_ , don’t worry.” Arya snorted, flapping her hand at Sansa, “I’ve been sending ravens to Robyn. He has hand writing as pretty as _yours_.” Her sister teased, to which Sansa rolled her eyes in return.

“That was very mature of you to reach out on your own volition.” Sansa already knew it was happening, but it’s good to still remind her sister and complement her on her behaviour, “I’m _proud_ of you, Arya.”

They kept eye contact, and the hope that blossomed in her sister’s eyes at the way Sansa showed her approval, it seemed to mean so much to her. For years, nothing Arya did had Sansa’s approval, but it seemed that even though she was their father’s favourite, perhaps she had been wanting her _older sister’s_ acknowledgement more.

Then she broke the moment, informing Arya, “I also confess that I need a Stark at the Wall, Arya. I must stay here. Rickon is too young and Bran is unable to walk still. I have started to heal him as best as possible, but even now, he is not ready yet to walk.”

And she had. Since his return, every couple of nights, so she could give herself a break, she would start slowly trying to heal her brother’s legs and back. Cor had helpfully showed her one of his many books, that had the human anatomy in it. Looking at the diagram, she focused more of her magic in his lower back then the legs, where most maester’s put their focus.

Arya eagerly asked, “But he will in the future?”

Smile playing on her lips, Sansa nodded. “I hope so. I will do as much as I can to help him.”

“What about Jon?”

Sansa blinked, caught off guard at the sudden change of topic. “What bout him?”

Frowning, Arya reminded her, “You said you need a Stark at the Wall, and he already is. You still see him as an outsider, _don’t_ you?” The accusation nearly had Sansa arguing, back her relationship with Jon still quite tense.

Shaking her head, Sansa responded honestly as possible, though barring a few details. “It isn’t that, Arya. These soldiers haven’t trained with him like you have. They know you. Jon is also a Night’s Watchman. When he made his vows, he revoked his right to any titles. Stark is not important on the Wall.” She purposefully left out the arguments her and Jon have had, not wanting to upset her sister.

“Oh.” There was pride in her posture, though Arya was still unsure. “Thank you for letting me go.” Arya mumbled, as if it hurt to be polite.

Sansa rolled her yes, and dryly said, “Yes well, I figured you would try to sneak out by yourself, so best let you go with the army, so that you don’t accidentally get lost on your way to battle.”

Offended, Arya yelled back, “ _Hey_! I wouldn’t get lost!” And Sansa just threw her head back laughing, relief at the argument being healed and talked about. They sat together for a little longer, Arya taking a glance around the room as Suha shone a little brighter at the sister’s happiness.

“Why is there a _harp_ down here?”

That evening she shared a meal with her friends and family, surrounded by laughter and smiling faces, trying to ignore the impending battle to come. Siping from her stew, Sansa watched as Podrick was teased by Theon, the boy having been welcomed into Cor’s close group of friends. Apparently he had the Talbert approved seal, which meant something to the rest of the boys.

Sitting next to Cor, leaning on his shoulder, Sansa flicked her eyes around the great hall, where many were gathered to eat, some for the last time. In one corner, she spotted a couple in the dim light wrapped in an embrace, one that seemed to be bordering on the sexual nature. Flushing, Sansa quickly turned away, not wanting to see any of that, and accidentally met Mya’s gaze.

She waggled her eyebrows in Sansa’s direction and abruptly, Sansa stood from her seat. Face a brilliant red. Her friends turned in her direction, worried faces looking up at her.

Waving away their worry, she excused herself, but made a jerking, furtive motion with her head at Mya, getting the other girl to stand and follow after her.

Once stepping out of the great hall, she latched onto the older girls wrist and tugged her into a dark corner by a wall. Though the shadows covered her face, Sansa could feel the curiosity radiating off of her. Sansa bit her lip, embarrassment roiling in her stomach, and Mya picked up on her hesitance.

“Sansa, what’s wrong?”

Tongue heavy, Sansa dithered over her words, “I- _um_. I w-wanted to ask. How, um. _Se-sex?_ ” She ended up squeaking out her question, nervous and embarrassed all at once.

Mya stared blankly at her, “ _Uhhh..._ ”

Face screwed up in frustration, Sansa tried to use her words better, “I wanted to _ask_ , how do, you er...”

Squinting, Mya finished her sentence with a question, “ _Have sex?_ ”

He face felt furiously hot, more than likely bright red beneath the shadows. “ _Yes_.” She mumbled, so embarrassed by the conversation.

However, Mya seemed to have the wrong idea, leaning in and hissed out, suspicious, “Is Cor pressuring you?”

Startled, Sansa yelped, “ _No_!” Then realising she didn’t want people walking over, or hearing their private conversation, she lowered her voice to a quiet yell. “No we _haven’t_ done anything like that! But I just, _if he dies_...”

Realisation hits May as she relaxed from her defensive posture. “ _Ah_. Last minute sex before going to battle.”

Worrying her lip, Sansa nodded, “I _guess_ , yes.”

Large hand on her shoulder, May softly said, “ _Sansa_. You don’t have to _force_ yourself-“

Hissing again, Sansa whispered-yelled in her own defence. “I’m _not_ forcing myself! I’ve been thinking about it already for awhile, and I just feel, _maybe_ I’m ready?” It came out like a question, and Sansa cursed inwardly out how unsure she sounded. She felt she was ready, but still didn’t know completely.

“Weren’t you the one to say that girls your age are too young?” Mya recalled.

Scoffing, Sansa turned away a little, “I’m fifteen, Mya. And Cor isn’t an older man. He is _a year_ older than me and I trust him completely.”

Still unsure, Mya drew out her silence before continuing, “... _Alright then_. First off, it may hurt, depending on the size of the man and generally how tight-“

Waving her hands frantically, she got her friend to stop talking, exclaiming impatiently, “ _No I know that!_ ”

Mya cocked her head to the side, interested, “You do?”

“My books. I know about basics like that. But I meant. How do you...” She then trailed off, gesturing uselessly.

“ _Ohhhh_ , you mean like, the _actual_ movements and shit?” Mya realised.

“Yes.”

Rubbing at her chin, Mya began, a devious glint in her eyes, “ _Well_...”

Sansa ended up going back in the the great hall to tell everyone good night and helped Rickon to bed. Osha was a godsend with how much she has been looking over her younger brother. She was saddened that Rickon seems to have forgotten their mother and father, but maybe it was for the best.

After a soft kiss on her drowsy brother’s forehead, Sansa then headed to her own room to prepare for bed. On the walk there, she could feel her pulse racking up a few speeds, hammering hard in her chest. Closing the bedroom door behind her, she gave a soft breath of relief that Cor wasn’t here yet.

Going behind the screen to change, her fingers fumbled against her laces, fingers and palms sweaty with nerves. Unfortunately, Cor had picked up on her state, and just as her dress pooled to the ground, he had entered the room.

“Sansa?” He called out, and she froze, heart in her throat now, mouth feeling dry.

“Just a second!” Her voice came out high and panicked.

“Are you okay?”

Clearing her throat, she answered, still feeling rushed, but voice sounding a bit more normal. “I’m fine! Just getting ready for bed.”

“ _Alright_...”

He trailed off unsure, but Sansa stayed behind the screen, listening to him undress and climb into bed. Only when the sounds of shifting sheets settled, did Sansa step out from behind the screen.

His face was frowning, worry obvious, and eyes hawk-like assessing her from any problems. Just the look of his concern had Sansa easing a little, nerves abating. From across the room, they stared at one another, and it seemed he was picking up on whatever tension she was feeling, because his shoulder were taut, and his fingers were twitching in the direction of his sword.

Closing her eyes, she straightened her shoulders and then marched over to Cor’s form and before she could second guess herself, she flung one leg over his legs and sat herself onto his lap. Acting reflexively, his hands flew up to steady her, large and warm on her hips, felt from under her thin shift.

His grey-blue eyes were blown wide, and slowly a red hue was creeping up his ears. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sansa didn’t let him, moving fast and closing her own mouth over his. Slowly, she relaxed, kissing being familiar territory and her hands finding his cheeks.

Though hesitant at first, Cor began to reciprocate, hands tightening on her hips and pulling her closer.

And then, things started to speed up, their kisses frantic, breathing becoming heavy. When Sansa remembered the advice given, she slowly pushed her weight down onto his lap, and the groan that left his throat sent _shivers_ of excitement and thrill through her bones. Taking that as a good sign, she did it again, and then his hands were helping her motions.

‘ _Grinding_.’ Was the term that popped into her head, sounding like Mya. However, though she was enjoying the static like sensations running through her mind, making her almost dizzy, she wasn’t feeling herself much.

Cor must’ve noticed that too, because he got her to sit up on her knees, and frantically pushed the blankets past his waist so that the only barrier between them was his breeches. As she settled herself back down, her hands softly stoked down his chest and back up again.

He left a out soft sigh of pleasure and leaned into her throat, mouth kissing and laying soft bites onto her sensitive skin. Her breath left her, shaky at the sensations, and she began to grind back down on him.

Now, with the blankets gone, she can feel him more prominently. It was a strange but new sensation, and what she thought bedding should be like. _Exciting_ and comfortable, not whatever horror stories Joffrey and Cersei had spoken of. But then, as one of his hands slid down her thigh, her skin jumping in _exhilaration_ , and then slowly made it’s way back up, though this time pushing her shift up, she felt her chest tighten, and it wasn’t excited nerves thrumming through her.

For a short instant, she felt Pycelle’s wrinkled hands moving up her dress and probing in between her legs. Her breath stuttered, and she _froze_.

Within seconds, Cor’s hands were off her, held up like in a surrender. She had balanced herself with her hands tightly gripping his shoulders, and noticed distantly that her body was shaking, hard.

“ _Sansa_.” Cor called her name gently. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the memory and she managed to bring herself back to the present, she found Cor watching her, eyes filled with concern. Letting out a trembling breath, she saw that through flushed cheeks, he had frown lines marring his handsome face.

“It’s _fine_ , Cor.” She tried to reassure him, but her tongue felt heavy with the lie, and Cor certainly didn’t believe it as well.

Gently, telegraphing his movements, he lifted her up off his lap and onto her side of the bed. Then drawing the blankets back over his lap, hiding his excitement, he drew his legs up close to his chest. Cor didn’t look at her as the heel of his palms rubbed deeply at his eyes, exhaustion in his shoulders. Sprawled over the bed, a pool of shame wormed it’s way into her stomach, and Sansa began to shift further away, thinking to herself that Arya wouldn’t mind if they shared tonight.

However, Cor’s voice stopped her. “Sansa. I’m not mad at you.”

Peering back at him, he had moved his hands away from his face, slumping over his knees. Bitting her lip, she asked, “Are, you sure?”

He sighed, turning his head to face her. “Yes, Sansa. I’m just angry at the ones who hurt you and at myself.”

She blinked, bewildered, “‘ _At yourself?_ ’”

Throwing up his hands in exasperation, he shifted under the covers, bodily facing her now. He was annoyed, but his face was still quite red. “ _Yes_! Because I didn’t even _notice_ how you were obviously pushing yourself for my sake, _obviously not even ready yet._ ”

Scooting closer, she glared, infuriated that he thought her unready. “ _What!? I’m ready!_ That was just, a _mishap_?” There she faltered, but quickly rushed on, reassuring him again. ”I’m fine now, Cor. It’s okay.”

By the furious look in his eye, he did not believe her, “Did _Mya_ put you up to this?” He asked suspiciously, and now Sansa is a _little_ insulted that no one thought that this was her own idea.

Groaning into her hands, she felt her anger dying as embarrassment rushed over her. “No, I just. I just wanted to...” Here she trailed off, peeking up at Cor through her fingers, her face still a flamed.

“ _Oh_. Because I’m _leaving_ tomorrow.” And he sounded so... _disappointed_?

Certain she missed stepped somewhere, she tried to explain herself, “What if you don’t come back, Cor? What if you don’t come back, and then my hand is forced to marry _another_ later in life? I wanted to experience this with someone who I truly love and trust with my body.” But it seemed she just made it worse.

His facial expression is blank as he flopped down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was silent long enough for the dread in her stomach to continue to fill, until he finally spoke. It was lacking in emotions. “I _understand_ where you are coming from, but there are two problems with that thought process.” He holds up his hand, ticking off as he went, “One, I’m _insulted_ that you even think I won’t come back alive. And that you thought the _best_ way to spend our ‘ _possible_ ‘ last night together if I did die, was pushing yourself to do something you weren’t comfortable with. And Two, what if _I_ wasn’t ready?”

It felt like a bucket of cold rushed over her, and regret filled her. Crawling closer a little, she laid her hand out near him, letting him decide if he wanted to hold her hand. Feeling truly remorseful for her selfishness, she apologised softly. “ _Oh_. I’m _so_ sorry Cor.”

He took her hand after a second, and tugged her close to him. He wrapped her up under the blankets with him, holding her close to him. Sansa couldn’t see Cor, with how she is facing in the other direction, so she only felt the vibrations from his chest as he spoke, voice low. “It’s alright. Just next time, can you _ask_? I mean, I know that _typically_ males are seen as ready and willing for sex, more experienced than girls. But I’m _actually_ really inexperienced with girls. As in, I’ve _never_ even _kissed_ one that wasn’t _you,_ Sansa. So it isn’t just you that’s not ready for sex yet. And just because the body can get excited during sex, doesn’t mean the person is _actually ready_.” His breath on her neck had goosebumps rising, and she rubbed her thumb against his hand where it was wrapped around her waist.

She exhaled, “I see. I, I will try to be more aware.” She promised, swallowing hard. This entire night didn’t turn out how she expected, and Sansa was now regretting how she reacted. Maybe she truly wasn’t ready yet, like she thought she was. And it seemed that Mya knew that. What she truly hated was how she made Cor feel _used_ , like it was all about _her_ than about _them_ doing this together.

Cor seemed to sense that she was upset and squeezed her tighter to him, placing a soft kiss on the back of her neck. “Hey. I’m _not_ angry.” He repeated, assuring her, “I did _genuinely_ enjoy that until you had a flash back, then I was just plain worried. I’m not going to die Sansa, so we will have all the time in the world, until _both_ of us are ready.”

So instead of having sex for the first time, instead she happily fell asleep in his arms. And a part of her was relieved. With how many have made sly suggestions, and even _Sandor_ had brashly asked her, Sansa thought that maybe they _should_ be. But Cor was right, that neither of them were ready, and she figured, rushing it with the underlining fear of him dying would not have made for the best sex. Sansa was worried for him, but she had to trust in his abilities that he would come back to her alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo, that was way more sexual than i’ve ever written and fully cemented the knowledge that I don’t think I could ever write smut. But, my point was that all that nonsense of last minute sex, which for many was the first time annoyed me a little in the show. But whatever. Here are two awkward teens, realising they aren’t ready and discussing why consent was important. And that even men could be forced to have sex.
> 
> This was a short chapter, as the next one will be hefty, so that may be out tonight or tomorrow morning. Until next time!


	37. When the snows fall...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the battle is fought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two parts, Cor’s point of view and then Sansa’s next chapter.

It took them three weeks to arrive at the Wall. Many of the soldiers had to build camps outside of Castle Black, with too many for the castle to hold. The main preparations were done, but the last tasks were getting all the food organised as well as setting up a medical area for all the wounded. That would be in the main hall, though much smaller than the one in Winterfell. Cor predicted that they would end up having to take over other rooms as well.

Once all the tents and bedding situation was finished, Cor, King Stannis, Tormund, and the leaders of the Watch gathered in the Lord Commander’s solar. There they went back over the plans a few dozen times, making sure everyone knew what they would be doing. From there they would go to those leading different squadrons, explaining their roles.

For Cor, that meant going to an older soldier Edmund and Theon. Theon was in charge of all the archers, and Cor had him and his people practise shooting the distances needed. Which would be the area past the blockade, and the area between the blockade and the Wall. Of course, the area closer would be for those with recurve bows, whereas the long bows can go a further distance.

Going to Edmund, he would be leading those that would be protecting the flanks and rear end of the army. With the blockade wall curving back, but still open space at the end, the undead could potentially come around and attack from behind. So there would be a large group in charge of keeping those that are attacking from the front, from getting snuck up on. He would have a Night’s Watch man and a Free folk with him, leading their own people.

Same with Cor. He would have Alliser, leading his men from the frontal assault, and one of Tormund’s people, a woman named Nath. The names here still boggled him, but he keeps himself from saying anything, knowing it could be insulting. Stannis would also be in the front assault, leading his own small amount of men.

Cor placed himself as the main frontal assault, as he knew that would be where he would excel best. He had thought about being part of the Elite Bastards, but he wanted to keep as many of his people safe as possible, and that would be best done when fighting side by side with them. And he’s seen the way some of the fighters in the Elite Bastards puffed up in prideful arrogance at having this _super_ important job.

But manning the Wall, and keeping the dead distracted, Cor felt like this job was the most important. After all, the small squad wouldn’t be able to even _get_ to the Night King, if it wasn’t for the main army.

He ended up pulling aside the four plus Macel, being sent off to fight the Night King, wanting to give them some last minute assurances and advice, not knowing if he would be able to when the battle actually began. “Don’t get cocky. Watch each other’s backs, and _stay_ vigilant. I’ve trained you personally, which means you’ve been trained by the best. _You will not fail._ ”

It’s not the most rousing pep talk, but his soldiers understood exactly what he was telling them and Nikolas even looked close to tears. Apparently it was quite moving for them, Ava lunging forward to give him a tight hug. He wasn’t over-exaggerating their abilities as fighters, he truly did put them through gruelling work, particularly in their teamwork.

He had them fighting him, one against five, and they slowly were able to accommodate for one another in attacks, even making up their own formations and attacking sequences. Cor couldn’t be more proud. After confirming they all had their dog tags on, he let them leave, watching with pride and apprehension.

Months ago he had the blacksmiths, before they got the dragonglass, to make every soldier a pair of dog tags. He had to explain the use of them to his troops, telling them that they were more for identification of their bodies if they died. Something so that Cor could keep a record for all those who had fallen. So that he would know _every single person_ that sacrificed themselves for the sake of humanity in the battle against the dead. Many donned the tags with gratitude, taking comfort in the fact that they would be remembered after death.

Then a dour voice cut through his musings, having him turn around and spot Snow not too far from him. The man was without his driewolf at the moment and Cor couldn’t help the glare that formed on his face whilst Snow put his hands up in surrender as he walked over. “That sounded like very cold speech, I don’t think they were that encouraged.”

The man tried to play it off like he was joking, put Cor was to busy simmering in rage to laugh. He marched forward, grabbed the collar of the other man’s shirt and slammed him into the wall. “ _You want to hear a cold speech?_ ”

Leaning forward, until their noses almost touched, Cor’s face was thunderous as he kept his voice at a growling low whisper, levelled and threatening.

“You listen to me, you _arrogant dick_. The _only_ reason I’m holding back from _wringing your neck_ for all the pain and _fuckery_ you’ve given Sansa, is because we _need you_ to kill the Night King. _That’s it_. I don’t give two _shits_ about whatever _fucking_ prophecy that red witch had be spouting, about you being the prince that was promise. _I don't care_ if you are some _chosen one_. You can still _easily_ die and I would happily push off the _fucking Wall_ , or skewer you _myself_ if I have to. When you go charging after the Night King, with _my people_ following you. If I hear _one_ word from my soldiers that you’ve put them in the line of fire _on purpose_ , or get wind that _left them to die_. I _will_ kill you. _That I promise.”_

With a last shove into the wall of the hallway, Cor stalked off, rage pouring off him in waves. And unnoticed by Cor, but when he had shoved Jon into the wall, it faintly cracked from his strength.

Cor had to take a few moments to centre himself before he could allow himself to interact with anyone else, not wanting to scare anyone. He decided to walk along the adjustments Sansa made to the Wall. He had her make two sets of long balconies, spanning across to allow for a many archers as possible. As well as massive platforms, lower so that the trebuchets can hit more accurately than from 700 feet in the air. There were also stairs built into the the Wall and on the sides of it, allowing enough room for the fighters to manoeuvre around one another. Sansa was smart enough to think of large banisters on the stairs so that no one would fall to their deaths.

He ended up running into Theon, who was on the higher of the two balconies, getting his people to practise. Upon Cor’s questioning look, Theon confirmed that the placing of the balconies were perfect for their range.

Having taken a corridor Sansa created inside the Wall itself, Cor took one of the outside staircases to the second, lower balcony, about 50 feet high. Looking down at the trench of large pikes, and at the many barrels of oil to splash them with for easier lighting them on fire, Cor judged the distance and leaped off of the balcony.

Something he had realised with his bodily magic, was that he could brace it so that his body wouldn’t take certain injuries. For example, if he decided to attack something taller than him, he could take a running leap, enhancing the strength of his jump, land a hit, and then land on the ground without injuring his legs from the impact. He had to practise this, to get it just right. That took many leaps off the 80 foot tall outer wall of Winterfell, with Sansa standing by on the ground below to heal him when he _inevitably_ broke his legs.

Of course she didn’t approve of his practise, giving him a stern glare every time she had to heal him, to which he would grin winningly at her. Arya and their friends had a fun time heckling him and shouting out scores on the best landing, i.e, the one where he injured himself the most.

So since all his experimentation was actually useful, he landed perfectly fine on the ground, but to the surprise and shock to many of the onlookers. Turning to look back up at them, he saw the unamused expression on Theon, to which Cor gave him a cheeky wave. Said boy flipped him off.

Cor was very proud of himself at teaching people that rude gesture. It’s become a norm now with his soldiers, having caught many of them giving him the bird when he beat them into the ground as training. 

Trotting across the snowy ground, Cor dropped into the trench, and inspected each tunnel, making sure they all had two large sacks of flour each. The plan was that when given the signal, two men or women would run down, quickly upend the flour over the wood and resin, making sure the flour floated as much as possible in the air, and then race back to the tench, leaving a trail of oil as they ran and then climb out. Where upon, someone would light the oil covered ground and wooden spike on fire. The oil would ignite and then the explosions under ground would hopefully have the land above collapse, destabilising the incoming dead when they fully breached the blockade.

Then, everyone should retreat as the archers and trebuchets above rained down hell. To many it was a strange tactic to use, seeing as the explosion won’t be big enough to take out that many, if any, undead. Cor just argued that it was tactic of distraction. Keep all eyes on them, so that the Elite Bastards would be able to handle the generals and Night King without the undead hoard in the way.

They have at least another week before the enemy arrives, and Cor almost wished the bastard would hurry up, so that this battle could be over with.

He sat himself down on the edge of the trench, overlooking the empty land, pre-battle. It’s a heavy quiet, with only some arrows being shot into the distance for practise, the wood whistling lightly overhead.

The crunch of snow has him looking back over his shoulder, and he spotted Talbert making his way to Cor. Giving a nod in greeting, he flopped down on Cor’s right, and didn’t speak for a while, also staring off into the distance. Cor waits for the other to speak, feeling the tension coming from Talbert, and he knew that the boy had something to say.

Finally, he does, looking over at Cor with a grateful smile, voice lower than it’s usual boisterous volume. “Thank you. For beating the shit out of Sandor.”

Shrugging, Cor responded, “You’re welcome.”

Looking away, Cor noticed how despite trying to seem nonchalant, he was wringing his hands. Clearing his throat, Talbert continued. “I know you weren’t doing it for me. But the shit he was saying, about swordswallowers...”

Cor sighed, “ _Yeah_. I _really_ fucking hate that guy.”

He snorted. “Yeah. I know you said that shit, just to piss him off but-“

Interrupting, Cor asked, “ _Wait, who said I was lying?_ ”

Wide-eyed, Talbert stares at him, “ _What_?”

Exhaling, Cor rubbed his face before fixing a steady look at the stunned Talbert. “Okay, so, where _I’m_ from, we have _actual,_ polite terms for those who like the same gander or both or none. I’m what they would call bisexual. I like both men _and_ women. I wasn’t lying Tal.”

Still wide-eyed, Talbert breathed out. “ _Oh_.” Then looked forward again. There is a pause in their conversation, and then he spoke again, still shy, but a bit more confident. “I like men. And it was so much easier in Skagos, because no one gave two shits if you did or didn’t. When I travelled here with my mother, I was ten and it fucking hurt to hear her warn me that I have to keep my love for men hidden.”

Cor’s chest ached in sympathy, and laid his hand on Talbert’s arm in comfort. Peering back over at him, Cor met him with a sincere smile, “Thank you for trusting me with that information.”

Slightly squinting, Talbert rhetorically asked in good humour, “ _You knew_ , didn’t you.”

Drawing away his hand to scratch sheepishly at his head, he admitted, “You tensed up when he said swordswallower like it was the worst thing he’s ever heard. _And_ you keep looking at Luka’s ass.” He tacked on at the end, sending a sly look to talbert out of the corner of his eye.

Spluttering, Talbert tried to defend himself. “Okay _listen_! He’s a _really_ good looking guy.”

“ _Yeah, he is_.” Cor sighed, a little wistful.

Talbert gave him a weird look, “Aren’t you with _Sansa_?”

Frowning, “Yeah? Doesn’t mean I can’t acknowledge that all my friends are really, _weirdly_ , good looking.” And it’s true. All his friends are very handsome, and it does weird shit to his bisexual heart sometimes.

Leaning closer, Talbert waggled his eyebrows, “You think I’m good looking?”

Pushing his face away with his hand, Cor snorted, “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Now grinning widely, Talbert ribbed, elbowing in in the side, “Okay but like, you _gotta_ think I’m prettier than the rest.”

Rolling his eyes, Cor smiled a little, amused. “How so?”

Running his hands through his hair, over exaggerating a smoulder, he teased, “Cause I’m ginger too. You have a _type_.”

“Uh _no_. My type is competent and terrifying.” Cor grinned.

Offended, Talbert exclaimed in his defence, though he was smiling as well. “ _I’m_ competent and terrifying!”

Scoffing, Cor drawled, “Maybe when in a fight, but when you’ve ran into a wall for the third time in a row because some male soldier had his shirt off, then you are the _least_ scariest thing I’ve ever seen,”

Making a noise of disgust, Talbert shoved him again. “ _Ugh_ , I hate you.”

“ _Mmhm_.” Cor hummed, not convinced.

“ _Seriously_ , you are the _absolute_ worst.”

“Yeah, but you think I’m handsome.” Cor leaned close to Talbert’s face, batting his eyelashes.

“ _Everyone_ thinks you’re handsome Cor! _It’s not natural_!” Talbert shouted, incredulous and infuriated at once.

Cor threw his head back in response, his laughter echoing around the empty landscape. He laughs even louder when Talbert tackled him onto the snowy earth. They tussled for a good minute before Luka comes jogging over. Cor had managed to pin Talbert when he looked up at their arriving friend.

“Don’t do that Commander, you’ll make his crush on you worsen.” Luka teased, as he stopped by their tangled bodies.

Cor blinked, face blank, before looking back down at Talbert, whose face had gone red in embarrassment. Pretending to be outraged, but voice a complete deadpan, Cor spoke, “I’m _completely_ scandalised, Talbert. I am you _senior officer_ , that’s _entirely_ inappropriate.”

It was with a mixture of a groan and laughter, that Talbert shoved Cor off, pushing his hand on his face. His face was beet red. “You two are the _worst_.”

As Cor got up, he held out his hand for Talbert to take, which he did. “Hey Tal.” Cor began, as they started to walk to the gate, “Apparently, the North used to be alright with same-gender love and marriage. But when the Targaryens came, bringing with them this new religion and shit, it was seen as a sin, and the law to allow marriage for same-sex couples was abolished. I think Sansa plans to bring it back.”

The amount of emotion Talbert showed in his eyes upon hearing that news, how his bottom lip trembled as he tried to play off how much Cor’s words affected him, “ _Gods_. If it didn’t love dick _so much_ I would marry that woman.” His weak laughter didn’t fool Cor. He saw how overjoyed Talbert truly was, under his normally carefree attitude.

Luka, coming up to Talbert’s other side, clapped him on the back. “Good thing you do, or else Cor would stab you in the face.” Subtly showing his support for their friend.

Turning to face the two, Cor responds, “I would _never_.” The overly pleasant tone and completely fake smile had Talbert faltering, and Cor headed back to the gate to the other side of the Wall, happily leaving the two vaguely terrified. Call him sadistic, but he loved putting the fear of god in his friends at times. 

When Sansa informed him Arya would be coming with, Cor refused outright. Then Sansa argued the reasoning, and Cor still didn’t like it, but conceded. Now, looking down at the child, who was demanding to be in the frontal assault, he put his foot down.

“ _Absolutely not_.”

Fuming, she argued, “But Mya and the rest get to!”

“They are older and can make their own choices. They have more skill under their belts, and,” Pining her with a firm look, Cor reminded the girl, “You are a _princess_ , and shouldn’t even _be_ fighting to begin with.” Then with a sigh, he grumbled, “But _unfortunately_ , you are a stubborn shit and Sansa was correct that you being on the battlefield would boost morale. So you will be behind the trenches, with Lyn and Ellina by your side. You will be protecting our rear guard, but won’t be in the complete thick of it. That is my decision. You don’t like it, you can be up on the balcony shooting arrows or back at the castle taking care of the injured that come through. Make your choice.”

She took rear guard defence. When he talked to Lyn and Ellina, they already figured they would be by her side, as Sansa asked them to watch out for Arya.

A raven came, about a week since they arrived, carrying a simple piece of parchment. When Cor unrolled it, all it said was:

‘ _Two days out. Be ready._ ’

He took a shaky inhale and looked at the raven waiting on his windowsill. Narrowing his eyes, he asked,“Caw twice if you’re Bran.” To which he received two caws. Nodding, Cor then spoke, “Tell Sansa we have received the message. And that she should be ready as well. We will need all the help that we can get.”

He got another caw in return, before Bran flew off again, some feathers leaving the bird’s body. Watching it fly away, he took another steadying breath, before sweeping out of his room, black cloak swaying with each step.

After he called a meeting, asking for some servants or men to get the leaders in the Lord Commander’s solar, Cor took a quick trip to the blacksmiths before heading to the meeting.

The forge was hot and humid, wonderful compared to the freezing temperatures outside of it. There he looked for Cal, wanting to update him and his workers. He found said man, bent over a sword, wrapping it’s hilt in leather.

Looking up at Cor’s entrance, the man’s face lit up. “Commander! Wonderful, I’ve _just_ finished your sword. I must say, it was an experience crafting a weapon of it’s design. Never had the _pleasure_ to flex my craftsmanship in this way.” The man bustled about, dodging other workers to head to the back of the forge.

After a minutes wait, Cal reemerged, two sheathed swords in hand. Cal eagerly placed the new sword in Cor’s hands, and upon his excited gestures, the boy took out the blade.

Gleaming with a blood red colouring, fire of the forge reflecting and making parts of it glow red, the sword was a perfect weight. He took a closer look, and could see the similar designs engraved in the actual blade, mimicking the Genji blade. It was a beautiful sword, elegant as a katana should be.

Looking up at the man, Cal happily rambled about the process. “The diagrams and instructions were quite helpful, and I thought that because I was using your origin blade as a reference- _and that it seemed to be your favoured weapon as well-_ I wanted to make it as similar as possible. I pride myself in my eye for detail, and it has been a long time since I got to inscribe artwork into a sword. So really I must thank you for this project.”

Sheathing the sword, Cor held out his arm, and Cal happily clasped it. “Thank you so much Cal. This truly is a beautiful piece of art.” Cor sincerely said.

The other man grinned, “It was an _honour_ , Commander.”

Letting go of one another’s arms, Cor let out a regretful sigh and finally spoke his real reason for coming. “Unfortunately, I come with some bad news.”

The man’s smile dimmed. “They’re here.” A statement, not a question.

Cor nodded grimly, informing him of the time he and his workers had left. “In two days time. I hate to rush you anymore than you already are but...” Cor trailed off and Cal held up his hand, stopping the boy from saying anything else.

Giving Cor a grateful look, Cal nodded back, “It’s understandable. Pulling all nighters have been normal for us since we got the dragonglass. This won’t be any different, but _thank you_ for letting us know.”

A short bow in thanks, Cor took his leave with a parting, “Of course. Thank you once again for your services. They win _not_ be forgotten.”

Placing The Genji Sword into his armiger with a brief flash of magic, he strapped the new blade onto his waist. Besides the colour of the actual blade, it was a copy of the original in every way possible. He had to give the blade a name. The names for his other three katanas were heirlooms passed down from his mother’s side, all with names of her language.

It was an old language, not used in Eos, but his mother seemed to have wanted him to know his heritage, writing in as many notebooks she could fill with instructions on the language. If he visited the land, he would’ve definitely butchered it in speaking terms, but he was as familiar as you could get.

With this new sword, he wanted it to also have the name from his mother’s tongue. There was Kotetsu, with the kanji of ‘small’ and ‘iron’. Which made sense, as it was the shortest of all three blades. Then there was Kiku-ichimonji, which according to his mother, was made by thirteen swordsmiths, with it’s meaning of Chrysanthemum-straight line. The name was kinda weird, but who was he to say anything against it. And then The Genji blade, his preferred sword. Genji meant two beginnings, which he thought was quite fitting for his life as a whole.

So this new sword, would need a fitting name as well. Hopefully, it would only be needed to fight the undead once, but he would want it to be carried on by his own future children. He dubbed it ‘Chiyo’, a thousand generations.

The leaders took the news with grim determination. Everything was already prepped for the battle, all that was left was just the wait. Cor _hated_ waiting. But he had no choice but to, wandering the castle and the new pathways in the Wall. At one point he ended up in a small library, meeting a young man, Samwell Tarly. The young man was in conversation with Stannis, and when introduced, Cor learnt that Sam was Stannis’ wife’s nephew.

The younger man seemed to be of an anxious disposition, so Cor tried to tone down his resting bitch face a little, not wanting to scare the man anymore than he apparently already was. Sam had heard of him through Snow, most likely nothing good either. Wanting to prove Snow wrong, Cor greeted the other with polite manners.

“I heard that you found the dragonglass beyond the Wall?”

Nervous, the other stammered in reply, “ _A-ah_ yes! I did. Fought off a wight myself as well.” The man puffed up in pride, and Cor’s eyes crinkled. It may seem like such a small accomplishment, but who is he to cut someone down for doing something they obviously found pride in.

“That’s _quite_ a feat. I understand they are quite hard to kill, and you said you were a scholar, _correct_?” He asked. Stannis stood to the side, watching their conversation play out. Cor wondered if the man felt overly fond of his nephew, and if Cor insulted the young man, would the king defend Sam?

Nodding in response, though almost ashamed, Sam admitted, “Yes, I _prefer_ books to swordplay.”

Clapping the man in a friendly manner on his shoulder, Cor praised the self-conscious guy, “Then, doing something that is out of your skillset, and succeeding, should be a point of pride for you.”

He looked wide-eyed, most likely unused to someone not criticising him for his interests. “ _Thank you._ ” Was his heartfelt reply, and Cor inwardly sighed, dismayed at how much this world only praised those who could fight instead of people who are intelligent. They only like it if you’re smart, if you use it in battle. But outside of it, it seemed that they get mocked.

“What were you planning to do, about the dragonglass?” Cor wondered, honestly curious.

The man’s eyes lit up, and he eagerly explained, “Well, because we didn’t know where to find more, I was going to go to the Citadel, to read up on it and see if there was more. But then, you came along, already knowing it was under Dragonstone.” He gave an uncertain laugh, and Cor frowned.

“I’m sorry to cut in on your research.” And he was. Obviously, the man was on to something, and it seemed that going to the Citadel was a dream of his. And now he didn’t have a reason to go.

Sam gave a ‘ _what can you do_ ’ shrug and said, “It’s alright. Time was of the essence and all.”

They parted ways, but Cor still feeling a little guilty at taking that opportunity away from him. He was only a hallway away from the library, when Stannis caught up to him. Slowing down to meet his pace, Cor rose an eyebrow in interest.

The man didn’t say much, just held out a horn. “To signal the army. You’ve taught them the signals, correct?”

“Yeah, had Tormund and Snow tell their people as well.”

“Good.” And with that, the man left him in the hallway. Stannis was a strange man in Cor’s opinion, but at the very least, he was a good one too. Looking down, Cor inspected the horn, seemingly made of some dark wood, with intricate carvings. He couldn’t make heads or tails of them, but it was a good piece of craftsmanship. It had a leather braided string tied around it, long enough to tie on a belt and still raise it to your lips to blow.

The night before battle, barely anyone got any sleep, Cor included. And it seemed that as the sun slowly began to rise the day of the battle, the temperature dropped even more. For manoeuvrability, Cor had to forsake his warm cloak, instead he had to layer two long sleeves, his favoured black tunic, and then a leather breastplate.

When he looked into the trunk he took with him to the Wall upon arriving, he sighed in fond resignation. He argued with Sansa against one, not liking the added weight, but when it came to safety she wasn’t one to lose. So he strapped it firmly on in place, along with his usual leather wraps and now some added gloves. He also didn’t like to wear gloves when using a sword, but he wasn’t willing to tempt frost bite. Lastly he strapped on Gil’s sword, the lack of weight still strange.

He decided to wear his cloak for now too, but would leave it behind when the dead was spotted. Marching down the steps from his room and onto a balcony over looking the army that was packed into the castle’s courtyard and battlements, Cor could feel the nervous tension in the air.

The one thing he hated about being Commander was the speeches, and he was _shit_ at them. He didn’t know how to be inspiring or motivational. So he went with what his gut told him. And seeing the stony faces of his people, he knew no heartfelt, _rousing_ speeches would do anything for them. Why give a long, drawn out monologue, extending their nervous waiting, when he could just be short and simple, and get it over with.

Standing tall, the cold breeze swaying the fur cloak around him, he projected his voice to be heard loud and clear. Blue-grey eyes blazing with ferocious anticipation for the battle to come, his bloodlust was singing in the way it usually did before a battle. All this was heard through his words.

“Don’t _fucking_ die. I _expect_ to see you all when the battle is _won_.”

Though some of the men, who weren’t his personally trained army, seemed unsure with his words, Luka, that ever faithful bastard, rose his fist in the air in support and determination. Then one by one, they all joined, the silence around them deadly and powerful. Cor rose his in solidarity.

After that, it all blurred by until they were all at their battle stations, awaiting the enemy. Above them a raven, Bran, circled before flying off. The Elite Bastards were already on the move, heading to the far left, following the Wall down as far from the battle as they could, before circling around to the back of where the undead should be coming from.

The frontal assault was in the space between the trench and blockade, spread out and at the ready. On his left was Luka with his spear, Talbert on his right, gripping his massive battle axe nervously, his smaller pair tucked in his belt. They stood at the middle front of the army, ready to lead them all.

The tension was thick, only the sound of shuffling foot steps and the wind was heard.

And then.

In the silence.

Came the piercing _howls_ and bone rattling _shrieks_ of the dead in the distance.

Cor couldn’t hold back the shiver of fear that rushed through him, having never faced creatures like this. And it wasn’t helpful that the ten foot wall stopped them from seeing the oncoming army.

Cor waited, eyes closed in concentration, until his instincts were telling them that the dead were closer. Because as they got closer, the more silent they became. Then, he rose the horn to his lips, and blew one, long burst of sound, echoing throughout the battleground and landscape.

After that, the skies overhead were _filled_ with flaming arrows and large stones, flying to their destinations and targets. He could feel the ground _tremble_ with each boulder that landed on the other side of the blockade, but still they held their positions, as the dead hadn’t breached the wall yet.

But he could hear the slams of their body against the wood, scratching and _snarling_ behind it. He heard Talbert next to him mutter a curse, and Cor wholeheartedly agreed.

And then, the barrier was breached, a massive fist crashing through the wood. Hand, blue and frosted, reached through and ripped two massive logs out of the ground, throwing them to the side, a few soldiers having to dodge out of the way.

As the giant stepped through, Cor marvelled briefly at the twenty foot tall beast with a _feral_ grin creeping on his face. The giant’s gap in the wall allowed for the undead to begin filtering through.

“The giant is mine.” Cor declared, already beginning to head directly to the creature. He heard Luka yell to his advancing form, “ _Ain’t arguing with that!_ ”

At his back, he felt the rush of the cold wind, almost propelling him forward, and for a split second, Cor thought he heard the sounds of Sansa’s voice. A song of battle and victory, calling the elements to war. Still grinning wide, he sprinted towards his chosen opponent, using Chiyo to cut down one undead that got in the way, using a twisting slash to keep his momentum going forward instead of pausing.

The giant locked eyes with Cor and began to head directly for him, hands out stretched to grab. Dodging one, he feigned left and ran right, using his magic to help him boost his jump into the air.

Soaring through it, Cor reached out and caught himself on the giants clothes with one hand, stabbing sharply into the beasts side. It let out a deep groan, though if it was in pain Cor couldn’t tell. Yanking the blade out, he clenched it between his teeth, and began to deftly climb the creature, dodging as best as he could from the hands that tried to reach him.

Finally reaching the back of it’s shoulders, Cor locked his legs on some thick pelts the beast was wearing, and holding on with one hand, grabbed the sword from his mouth. Pulling back as far as he could, he drove his blade through the back of it’s neck. It was thicker than a normal humans, and Cor had to use some magic to strengthen his arm as he slashed the blade outwards from the middle of it’s neck.

Letting out another groan, the giant began to fall forwards, Cor clinging tightly as it slumped to it’s knees, and then it’s face. The snow around the fallen giant’s body flew into the air, the heavy weight dispersing it from the ground.

Standing up on it’s back, Cor flicked his blade, flinging some blood off of it, as he looked up to assess the rest of the battle. He paused at the sight of thousands of faces staring at him, including, weirdly enough, the undead that had come through.

Taking their pause as an opening, he charged forward, rejoining Luka and Talbert’s side, and soon enough, the battle continued.

He could say that, as with most battles, it blurred together, and in some ways it did. In Eos, he did work with units and squadrons, but something was different this time. Maybe because of the closer bonds, but Cor felt more aware of a battle than ever before. Working with Luka and Talbert, he would aim high with Luka coming in low with his spear, skewering and lobbing the head off of the same enemy. Leaning out of the way of Talbert’s flying small axe as it nailed the undead behind him, that Cor knew was there. But because he was so in-tuned with his friends, he could rely on them to guard his back instead of him always doing it himself whilst in Eos.

In some ways, call him crazy, but he found it fun to battle side by side them, and slowly found him chuckling a few times.The other two started to pick up on it and at one point, he heard Luka mumble a number under his breath, keeping score of each fallen enemy.

But the humour didn’t last long, when he spotted another part of the wall break open under the weight of the undead, their frosted bodies flooding through. The opening was wider, and Cor immediately ran to it, knowing that their left side may falter under the attack. Arrows still continued to whistle over head, flaming and aiming true. At one point, an arrow he was pretty sure belonged to Theon, nailed an undead in it’s head just as Cor was about to strike. Without looking back Cor raised his hand in the air in thanks, hoping the archer understood.

Cor couldn’t tell you how long he slashed and stabbed his way through the hoards, the sun being blocked by the heavy grey clouds that came with the Night King’s army. But it could have been hours with how his limbs began to burn a little, however he did not let himself falter, knowing the soldiers and fighters would rely on him to take the main brunt of the attack. After all, what’s the point in having their best fighter not fight on the main battlefield, taking the attacks that regular fighters would fall to?

So he pushed through and continued, ordering some injured to be taken back. Setting fire to some of their fallen or guarding the back of those who are already doing the task. It hurt him to recognise the fallen, quickly yanking off their dog tags to pocket them. These were people he trained, people he talked and laughed with. It made his chest ache to see them with empty eyes as their bodies were lit on fire.

Everyone was carrying a small bottle of oil, so that the bodies would light up faster. And soon enough, the battlefield, as most tend to do, was filled with the stench of burning flesh and feces released from the dying soldiers. Battle wasn’t an elegant or glorious affair, and for many, this was their first. He wondered how much of their expectations had shattered. At different intervals, he heard the sound of static, the crackle of lightning, and smirked at the bellows of Mya as she decimated her enemies.

But soon enough, the blockade wouldn’t hold much longer, so lifting the horn up to his lips, he let out two, long, echoing blows. Retreat.

He would be one of the last to retreat, covering as many back as possible. Spotting a Free folk tripping, Cor rushed to their side, slicing the head of an undead off that was making it’s way to them. Dragging the person up by the back of their furs, he shoved them forward, looking around for anymore stragglers.

Retreating meant going to the ends of the trench and circling around to behind it, with their rear and side guard protecting those that were in the frontal assault. They would be more exhausted than those nearer to the back. The snow under his feet was slush, a dark colour of mud, and blood, and a few times he nearly slipped into the muck. He tried not to think about the bodies he passed by, knowing that trying to spot all the familiar faces would drive him insane.

He was still on the other side of the trench when the blockade finally collapsed, and with all their people out of the main battlefield, the archers and trebuchets started to increase their assault. He lifted the horn again, and signalled for the trenches to be lit, two short blows, one long. In an instant he spotted the designated people jumping in, carrying torches. They had maybe five minutes at the most to complete the task before the entire battlefield was completely overrun with the dead. It won’t be enough time.

“Guess I better make some.” Cor murmured to himself.

The problem with using the magic to enhance his body, was that it was also exhausting. He didn’t have that much magic built up and trained properly in the short amount of time that he had. And then he also had to summon Gil and the army, which took a toll on his magic as well. But he _needed_ to give his people enough time to set of the explosions, and to keep the undead focused on them so the Elite Bastards could get to the Night King.

‘ _Wished they would hurry the fuck up_.’ Cor grumbled internally as he boosted his speed enough to take down two opponents that were just a bit too far from his reach and too close to the trench for comfort.

It was exhausting work. The people retreating were slow to filter through the gate, so there was still too many on this side before he could close it. Finally though, the runners climbed out of the trench, and one tossed his torch into it.

Instantly the hot flames burst to life, and Cor squinted against the bright light, kicking an undead that was crawling to him into the flames. And then the ground _shook_.

Cor himself nearly stumbled into the blazing trench, trying to look behind him as the ground collapsed under the undead army. Explosions, massive and deafening bursts into the open sky, and the ground’s trembling had him staring in disbelief.

‘ _They shouldn’t have been that big_.’ He distantly thought incredulous awe. With how mediocre their explosions were, they shouldn’t have wiped out that many enemies, a massive portion now in flames and the ground deep enough that they had to crawl on top of one another to get out.

Looking up at the sky, he thought out a prayer of thanks. ‘ _Which ever god did that, you have my eternal thanks_.’

However, despite the godly intervention, there was still more incoming, waves of ice cold bodies, charging at Cor. A quick look behind him let him know that the last of the army had finally retreated into the tunnel and all that was left was for Cor.

But as he stood on the other side of the flames, watching through hazy smoke as Luka and Talbert were screaming and yelling his name desperately, though over the wails and screams of the undead, he could not hear them. He knew they wanted him to join them, but he couldn’t.

Behind them, he spotted Stannis, and gave the older man a nod. His face became hard as stone, as he cut the line to the gate, and the metal collapsed hard into the snow. Above, archers were still providing covering fire, but he knew they would run out of ammunition soon enough.

Turning back to face the dead, he let out a shaky exhale. This was odds he had never been up against. But he wasn’t called _Cor the Immortal_ for no reason. Against all odds he managed to come back from missions that guaranteed death, and never did he falter. Closing his eyes, he breathed in again, and felt the soft snow brush against his face.

“ _Sansa_.” He exhaled, a small smile playing across his face. He would _not_ die today.

Reaching behind his back, he unsheathed Gilgamesh’s sword, and began to stride forward into the fray. Strangely enough, the creatures started to pause their advancement, as if the heavy death magic _radiating_ off of the sword made them second guess. Prowling towards them, he took their hesitance as an opening, firmly stab the sword into the muck covered ground with both hands. The white-blue wave of magic pulsed once from it, and in the stilled silence that came, Cor spoke:

“ _Gilgamesh, I summon thee._ ”

Pulsing once more, the sword glowed bright, and when he managed to blink the black spots out of his eyes, Gilgamesh stood before him, in all his massive glory.

Cor couldn’t help the fond, if exhausted smile at the sight of his friend.

“I could use a hand, Gil.” He remarked.

“One day, you will realise, that you are _not_ funny, Leonis.” Was the god’s dry reply.

Observing the undead around them calmly, Gil waved his hand, and the sword pulsed again. This time summoning his own ghostly army, seeping up from the ground and standing tall and ready.. They surrounded Gil and Cor, as if to guard them and Cor chuckled as one twisted around slightly to wave at Cor.

On an unspoken command though, they all charged, swiftly and silently, cutting through swathes of undead.

“They don’t have dragonglass.” Cor faintly said, realising the hole in this plan. Looking up to Gil, trying to muffle his panic, the god gave him an unimpressed look.

“Magic, Leonis. _Magic_.” And then yanked his sword out of the ground, and charged into the fray as well.

Chuckling to himself, Cor stepped forward, but then a massive wave of exhaustion rolled through him, and he collapsed to his knees, panting heavily. He could feel the cold ground seeping though his breeches, wetting his knees. His arms were trembling, hands unable to find a tight grip on his sword.

Gritting his teeth, Cor tried to use Chiyo as a crutch, to pull himself back up again, but he couldn’t. All that fighting, the use of his magic, he can’t even stand up now. Breathing heavily through his teeth, he growled at himself for such weakness. ‘ _Now is not the time._ ’

Then the sound of approaching foot steps has his adrenaline spiking in fear, spinning around to face the enemy as best as he could, sword up and at the ready. But to his relief, he could lower the sword. As, standing in front of him, was Talbert and Luka.

“You _fucking_ morons. What the _hell_ are you doing here.”

They each took a side, and pulled him up, arms tossed over their shoulders. Talbert on his left held a small axe in the hand that wasn’t holding him up. Luka seemed to have lost his spear, because he snatched Chiyo from his useless hands, and wields it himself.

“Sorry Commander, can’t follow your orders, sir.” Luka cheerfully informed him, stabbing an oncoming undead in the face, twisting all three of them around to face it.

Snarking, Talbert replied, “Yeah, I _really_ want to fight a bit more, Commander.” As he too slashed at another oncoming enemy.

Snorting, Cor called out, “On your right.” And as one, they spun around and Talbert landed a hit on the enemy’s neck, cutting it off with a dull thump.

In tandem, they went back and forth, Cor calling out any incoming threat that they may have missed, whilst the other two supported his weakened body, cutting and stabbing their way through the army.

Then, ending up by Gilgamesh, both boys looked up at him in awe, and Gil seemed to roll his eyes at their reactions.

“Feeling weak there, Leonis.”

Practically dangling between his friends, Cor blithely stated, “Just a little weak-kneed. I’m sure I will be better in no time.”

“In time enough to fight the oncoming giantS?”

Perking up, Cor flopped his head to the side, trying to look over Talbert’s shoulder, and sure enough, two giants were coming to them. Their slow gait making the ground faintly shake with each step.

Struggling between his friends, Cor tried to step in it’s direction, but they had to catch him as he nearly collapsed once more.

“Whose the fucking moron _now_ , Cor!?” Talbert yelled, anger not doing a good job at hiding his worry.

Gil just snorted and stepped closer to them, and reaching out an expansive hand, tapped Cor on the forehead. With in seconds Cor was shaking with the sudden rush of energy, and he gasped and whispered hoarsely, “Did you just _magically steroid_ me?”

“ _That_ isn’t grammatically correct.” Gil snipped back as Cor managed to stand on his own to feet again. It was like a burst of five expresso shots to his blood. Bewildered, Luka handed back his sword when Cor wordlessly stretched out his hand. Looking around on the ground he noticed a dragonglass dagger and using his toes, kicked it up into the air towards Luka, who fumbled but grasped it tightly.

“Ready to slay a giant?” Cor asked breezily, as if discussing the weather, taking a step in it’s direction. He felt rejuvenated, but knew it wouldn’t last long, only a short boost of power.

Talbert stepped in time, coming to his left, Luka following a split second after on his right. “I’ve wrestled with an unicorn, this is nothing.” Talbert joked, and Luka and Cor glanced at him.

“ _They’re real!?_ ” Luka exclaimed. Grin strained, Talbert said, “If we live through this I’ll tell you all about it.”

And with that parting decision, the three sprinted to the giant, spotting the other coming up behind it. The ground shook as Gil overtook their running speed and flying tackled the other giant to the ground, brutally wrestling with the massive creature, as the ground shudder under the behemoths battle. They were about the same size, albeit Gil slimmer. With one taken care of, Cor stated to the two, “Knees, stomach, throat.” 

Nodding in unison, Cor dashed to the side, slashing the back of the beast’s knees. Luka ran forward and then fell into a kneel, hands cupped outwards. Talbert sprinted in his direction, stepped onto the cupped hands and Luka boosted him into the air.

Talbert, both hands on his axe, dug the blade into the giants stomach and let gravity take hold, pulling him back to the ground and cutting open the creatures stomach. Luckily, with the undead being frozen, no guts spilled out, or that would’ve been very messy for Talbert, who landed in a neat crouch. 

With a groan, the creature fell to it’s knees and Luka quickly aimed and stabbed his dagger into the giant’s eye, before darting back quickly as it collapsed face first into the snowy muck.

Panting heavily, all three assessed the battleground and saw that, though the ghost army was putting up hell of a fight, there was still undead that was slipping through the cracks. Some had even managed to reach the Wall, and was trying to climb upwards to the balconies, where the archers were desperately fighting them off.

Growling under his breath, he spat out, “What the _hell_ is that team doing? I should’ve been there if they are taking _this_ fucking slow!” And then viciously stabbed an undead in the face, letting the anger help fuel his depleting energy, keeping him fighting.

“But if you weren’t here, I think we would all be _terribly fucked_ , Commander.” Talbert retorted, his fear seeping through his voice as he threw his axe into an enemies face than ran to collect it, slashing upwards at another one close by.

However, they complained too soon, as the undead that Luka stabbed shattered into ice. They looked on stunned, watching the ice tinkle to the ground in silence. And then, like dominos, the undead fell, bodies shattering like they were fragile glass, letting an utter stillness echo around the battlefield.

Cor could hear his heavy pants, the pounding of his heart, his blood rushing through his veins, watching as the battlefield seemed to empty itself. He then met Gil’s eyes over the field, and saw the way the god gave him a solemn nod, and then fade out from view, taking his ghost army with him, in a flash of light.

Stumbling over to where the god left, Cor heaved the massive sword over his back, feeling weirdly heavy with how tired his body was. And then, looking upwards, for a brief second he glimpsed the sun peeking through the clouds, before everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooo, finally the battle is here, but next chapter, there is still some shit going down on Sansa’s side. I’m super excited for you to read it! It may be up later on tonight or tomorrow. 
> 
> Cor is an absolute bamf and his friends are very much in the ride or die category. As, the brief return of the Gil and Cor banter! I hope the battle is as awesome as people had hoped for, I really tried. Also, godly intervention 👀 oooooo. 
> 
> And a side of coming out of the closet and threatening your girlfriend’s fam. No big deal.
> 
> Until next time! Thank you for reading.


	38. ...and the white winds blow.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa’s fight is more on the magical side then Cor’s

Sansa didn’t need to have Bran tell her when the battle began, she felt Cor’s apprehension, his bloodlust, his _fear_ and _knew._ So with a quick word to Lord Royce to take charge of the keep, she swept down to the kitchens and into the bowels of the castle. Shae, Jeyne, and Beth following after her quickly. Bran, who was only just able to walk, came down at a slower pace with Rickon. And there, they watched as Sansa took a seat on the stool in the middle of the cavern, a harp set before her.

It was one that Cor found hidden in the castle as a late name’s day gift, and she had only had brief moments of time to practise, too busy with running the kingdom. So she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Suha pulsed and glowed behind her eye lids, and she set her fingers on the harp, softly strumming the strings, and the short melody hummed with her magic.

Opening her mouth, Sansa began to _sing_ , letting Suha’s memories of the ancient songs and first tongue flow freely. The cave echoed around her, voice bouncing off the walls, and then seeping into their cracks, flowing outwards and upwards. In her mind she could see the lands of the North, how her magic pulsed and flowed over the vast landscape. Like a bird, she flew though the skies until her song, her _magic,_ reached the Wall.

There, she saw her people. Saw Cor, all on the battlefield, ready and waiting. Her magic brushed up against the Wall, and when she came in contact, she communed with Bran the Builder. The two ancient Stark’s magic intertwined and connected after a brief period of hesitance, and it felt like her snow storm magic became wilder, _stronger,_ with their help.

She played and sung her way through the battlefield, healing the wounded when possible, using a large gust of wind to make an undead stumble before it could land a deathly blow. It wasn’t much, but she if could extend as much magic as possible, doing as much as she could to tip the scales of the battle, she would.

Sansa saw when her people fell, felt her blood and soul _screaming_ in anguish at their sacrifice. And when the ground exploded, it felt like a gentle brush against her senses, like a _being_. _Older_ , stronger, was there for a short second, before leaving again. ‘ _A god_ ’ her entranced mind supplied, only able to briefly contemplate the meaning of a god providing help before she fell back into her focus. She heard Cor whisper her name, and though she could not respond, she let his name flood her mind.

But the battle kept coming, and still, the Night King did not fall. She only had the land of the North under her purview, so to go further than the Wall, could leave her stretched too thin. It would be a death sentence. But she _must_. She must see if they have fallen, if the team had not made it. So she pushed her way through, like clawing hands, grasping at thin strings to find purchase. It was like her body was stretched too thin, mind and magic going further than they ever should.

_And there_.

She saw _him_.

Glowing blue eyes, skin a rough, icy cover. Inhuman, the Night King fought against the small team they sent, his generals defending well, though two had already fallen. She wondered if they had just reached the Night King, or if they had been fighting almost as long as the army had been.

As if she could reach out her arm, though it was more a flurry of snow, she brushed aside a blow that would’ve killed one of the fighters, and the Night King _looked_ at her.

His piercing gaze had her snowstorm freeze under the penetrating stare of the enemy. She felt breathless with paralysing fear. How he could see her, she did not know, but she felt as his magic reached out to her. As an ice cold hand grasped around her heart and _clenched_ tight.

She had grown unable to truly feel cold anymore, but this was different, this was _deeper_. This was an _ancient_ cold, something she would struggle to fight against.

Distantly, she noticed her body had stopped playing as she clawed at her chest, _screaming_ and _gasping_ for breath as the cold over took her very being. She felt _so weak_ , so _tired_ , and a soft, soothing voice spoke in her head to sleep. To just _close her eyes_ , and succumb to the cold embrace.

How she wanted to. She was so tired, so _exhausted_ , but she couldn’t. Her family, her kingdom. They were relying on her. It was painful, taking the deep breath needed to roar out her voice, channeling her magic, letting it all go. No longer was she funneling it to control like how she taught herself with Cor’s help.

No. You could not control winter, you could not _control_ the storm of the wolf as it barred it’s teeth at the Night King in fury. She _will not_ submit. She will _rage_ and scream, and _ache_ with pain, if it meant the survival of her people.

_She_

_Will_

_Not_

**_Kneel!_ **

Screams tearing through her throat, the wind howled in echo around her, around the King as she guided the sword to his heart. She knew not whose it was, but it reached it’s mark, stabbing true and hard. She watched as the Night King met her eyes, and then he shattered, collapsing like he was never there to begin with.

The air took a deep breath, a stillness, before the howling storm around them collapsed like snow off a roof. 

Familiar magic grasped her, and gently pulled her back to the Wall, and then to her castle, feeling the way Bran slips away from her soul as she reached her home, like fingertips brushing as their hands let go of one another.

Heaving for breath, she shook back to awareness and around her, her friends and family had gathered, concern and panic on their face. Taking heavy, desperate gasps of air, her throat was raw and sore, fingers red and aching, Sansa looked up at Bran, her brother, needing to _know._

He nodded solemnly and the relief collapsed over her, knowing that the enemy was truly defeated with her help. Her shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes.

“ _Who_.” She whispered, hoarse and tired.

“Jon.” He replied, knowing exactly what she was asking. According to whatever prophecy the red witch talked about, the Prince who was Promised, was to defeat the Night King. Well, by technicalities, he did. But she doubted the prophecy was completed the way the priestess had hoped for. Jon was a prince by the fact that _she_ was queen, and he her family. But he wouldn’t be the ruler Melisandre had thought he would, like she thought Stannis was.

Closing her eyes, she leant back into Shae, who had been steadying her this whole time. Bran then spoke up again. “The battle has ended, but the Night King’s magic had still festered and spilled outwards. The Long Night is now here. And those on the Wall will not have any relief.” There was a solemn sadness in his eyes, and Sansa looked at him wretched but needing to know,

“How long will the Long Night be?”

“It could take years.”

Jeyne whispered in horror, “They could be _dead_ by then.”

“No.” Sansa proclaimed, trembling with the over flow of magic still coursed through her blood, and with rage at how far they’ve come, only to be stopped by winter. “ _No_.” She repeated, sitting up straighter on the stool, though Shae still hadn’t let go.

“I can do something, _can’t_ I?” She looked into her brother’s eyes, and the person who looked back was a _stranger_ , ancient and powerful. This was the Three-eyed Raven she was talking to, _not_ her beloved brother, Bran.

“It would take time and energy that you may not have to compete against a storm that has been coming for thousands of years.” His voice was emotionless, lacking any feeling.

Sitting up straighter, she looked into he ancient being, seeing through her brother’s eyes and challenged it. “And I am the _first_ Winter Queen to ever be. My birth was _seen_ before the birth of the House Stark. This Winter may have been _planned_ for 8,000 years, but _so was I_.”

Through it’s eyes, a gleam of interest and admiration shone through. With a firm expression, she asked, “When does the storm arrive?”

“A day.” It was know Bran that answered.

Nodding decisively, “Then a day of rest I will have.” Turning to her ladies, she began to issues orders. “Jeyne, you and Lord Royce will keep charge of the castle until the storm is over. Bran, keep an eye on the people at the Wall, and if possible send a message to Cor that the Long Night is here, and they need to watch over their stores. We do not know how long this will take, but hopefully not as long as years.” Looking to Shae and Beth, “I need you to watch over me. I will be here, and like with the battle, I will be going back into the trance. Hopefully this time though, I will not be fighting against the Night King.”

Shae snorted, though it did not hold any amusement. “No. Only nature _itself_.”

With a grimaced smile, Sansa agreed with how hopeless the situation seemed, but commanded to her people, “I need to eat, and sleep. Then, when the first snow begins to fall, wake me up and take me here.”

They nodded in affirmation, but then Rickon let out a soft whine of worry. Softening, she opened her arms and her youngest brother ran into her weakened body. Shushing him softly, she comforted him with gentle words of love.

“You will be alright, little wolf. I will _not_ leave you. I swear it to the old gods.” She said firmly, meeting his tully blue eyes, so bright like hers. He sniffled, but nodded, trying to stay strong.

She ate her fill of two bowls of stew and one entire loaf of bread. When her eyes started to droop, she was ushered to bed by Shae, and collapsed, out of consciousness within seconds. And in her dream, she was in the godswood. The air was still, no sounds of any animals or the wind. The snow was thick and crunched under her feet as she walked into the direction she felt herself be beckoned towards. And when she reached the destination, she was stood under the weirwood tree, it’s smiling face bleeding sap as it began to speak to her. It’s red leaves rustled to a nonexistent wind.

Like a soft whisper, just carried on the air to her ears, she heard the god speak. “ _You wish to challenge nature._ ”

Fists clenching at her sides, she looked into the bleeding eyes and corrected the god. “I do not wish to. I _aim_ to.”

Deprecating humour flooded her senses as the god spoke more firmly into her ears, “ _And do you, a mortal, believe to be of such power._ ” It was mocking her.

Glaring, she declared, never letting her voice waver, “I know I _must_ if I wish for my kingdom and it’s people to survive.”

“ _And if you die?_ ” Tone curious.

Tilting her chin up in defiance, she affirmed, “Then I die.”

The wind blew around her, feeling stronger than the simple breeze from minutes ago. The storm was coming. “You are scared.” The god realised, and bluntly stated to her.

Scoffing, Sansa exclaimed up at the tree, “Of _course_ I’m scared! I do not _wish_ to die though I _will_ if I _must_! My people come _before_ me, as all good rulers should know.”

In a horrific, terrifying image, the blood from it’s eyes started to seep and drip and flow heavier from the tree, puddling to the ground. The sharp contrast of red on white was startling to her eyes. When the puddle began to expand, it then stopped. It was thicker than it should be, as liquids should be continuing to expand as much as possible, taking up as much ground as it could. This doesn’t. It doesn’t behave how it should, flowing in a slithering line to stop at her feet, and leaving no trace behind it. Where upon it began to rise before her. A tall pillar, moving against the weight of gravity, the dark red, blood coloured sap, formed a silhouette of a genderless being, lacking features on it’s face. Taller than her, sansa was not able to hold back the widening of her eyes, almost fearful of the being in front of her.

Whether this was it’s true form or not, she stood in front of an _Old God._ It’s red hand reached out, coming up and Sansa froze, not flinching away no matter how much she wished to, as it _caressed_ her cheek. Unlike the expected wetness, it was dry, warm. No mouth was seen as it spoke again.

“ _You are wise beyond your years, though still young and foolish._ ”

She looked to where it’s eyes would be and realised why she felt so familiar with this god. “You were the god that helped on the battlefield. The one that helped the explosions. I _felt_ it.” Gratitude and awe filled her, and she wondered if she should be bowing in reverence.

The hand on her cheek stilled, and the god’s voice was entirely emotionless as it asked, “ _And if I was?_ ”

Breath rising in her chest, she declared with absolute belief in her heart, “Then you _want_ the North to survive just as much as _I_! _Are you not_ the god that granted Suha her magic, to which she _saw me?_ _Are I not_ the one that was foretold to _save_ the North?” Sansa retorted, demanding answers. It would be arrogant of her to say such things, to believe herself more important than she was, but if she was seen so far in the past, then there _must_ be some importance to her existance.

There was a pause, before the god’s hand finally fell away. For a second she almost stumbled forward, chasing the touch of divinity, mourning it’s loss. But she stilled herself as the god begrudgingly admitted, “ _You are_.”

Feeling bold, she reached out and snatched desperately at the god’s hand. It stilled in shock and though no eyes could be seen, Sansa felt as if it was staring at her in shock. Blue eyes blazing, she asserted with true courage for the first time ever. She does not doubt a single word that flows from her mouth, feeling the vow that escaped that the ancient magics latch onto. “Then I will _fight_ and _rage_ against nature if it meant that I saved the North! I have _always_ been dutiful and saving my lands is my _duty_. Both as a _Stark_ and as it’s _Queen.”_

The wind had picked up more around her, howling and screaming. But over the cacophony, she heard the god sigh, in admiration and tenderness, “ _You are more beloved than you know, Child of Winter.”_

Then the warm touch of divinity disappeared, and the raging snow over took her vision, only pure white in her view.

Waking up with a startled gasp, Sansa breathed heavily as Shae and Beth came bustling into her room, urging to get up, that the storm had begun. Struggling out of the tangled bedsheets, she forgoes a proper dress, just swinging a warm robe over her body. Shae helped pull her hair out of the collar and Beth helpfully tied the robe shut, where her still sleepy body fumbled to use her fingers.

From there, Sansa marched to the hot springs, passing many of her people by, who looked on in bewilderment at her underdressed state. Sansa pays them no mind, as property was not of importance at the moment.

When she reached the cavern, everything was placed as it was before, and Sansa quickly retook her seat behind the large harp. Fondly running her fingers over the engravings for a second, she centres herself, and reached out to Suha again, who happily responded in kindness.

The only way she could describe fighting a snowstorm that had been on the rise for _8,000 years_ , was that it was brutal. It was _painful_. She did not know until after how long it took her to disperse the magical build up. It was like trying to empty the ocean with only one bucket. Impossible, _but by the gods did she try._

It was shoving, it was fighting, pulling and screaming from her heart and very soul as she tried to divide the onslaught of power. Corralling it into different directions, so that it wasn’t just focused on the North. Sending the heavy winds to the west. Sending the cold snow to the east. Sending the darkening clouds south. She was at it’s centre, dancing and stumbling against it’s violent power.

If she thought the brief touch of the god was true _divinity_ , then she was _wrong_. As not even a _god_ could compare to the _force_ that was nature at it’s most _angry_. And she was just a mortal, declaring herself on the same level as it.

But she was _not_ alone. She could feel Suha’s magic helping her, could feel Bran from the Wall, offering as much coverage and protection over her people as much as he could. And even the god, it’s soft touch to her cheek was enough to boost her power. _Her strength_. She would not falter.

And through the use of her talents of singing and music, she _pushed_ and _stumbled_ through her own battle against the Long Night.

And when the last of the winds slowed, when the last of the snow settled, Sansa looked up and saw what she would forever believe to be the true face of the god in the weirwood tree.

Like sunlight kissing her face, Sansa stopped her magic, and everything became dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa’s turn to meet a god, and boy oh boy do I like this one I created.   
> It was shorter, but hopefully i did the imagery justice. As for how the fuck you describe someone’s magic fighting a fucking blizzard that was meant to last years, i have no clue.
> 
> I’m tired, so break time. But I will be back soon!


	39. Heralding spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The North begins to heal and the soldiers march home

It took Sansa awhile to crawl back from the darkness her mind had been swimming in. It felt like minutes, but she knew it was longer. She could feel the soothing hum of Suha in her mind, helping her heal from her exhaustion. At one point, she felt that soft warmth of divinity before it disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

Finally though, she could not stay asleep forever, and soon enough she became aware of the waking world. First observation was that she was in a bed, as the woollen sheets and heavy furs surrounded her. Next, was that there were soft voices speaking near her. Her brothers. And then she realised just how much her body _ached_. Her throat felt sore and dry. Her finger tips pulsed with pain. Sansa couldn’t hold back the moan of pain that escaped her lips.

Unfortunately, that set off her lungs into a coughing fit. The sound around her heightened as Bran frantically called her name, with Rickon running out of the room. A wooden surface met her bottom lip and she greedily drank the water in between coughs.

When her throat felt wet enough, she opened her eyes and peered up at the worried face of her brother. For a second, he looked just like their mother before her hazy mind caught up.

Croaking out, she asked, “How long?”

His young face pulled into a grimace as he informed her, “Three days and three nights you played. And then when the storm died, you fell unconscious. It’s been a day and a night.” Sansa could see the worried disapproval on his face and gave an awkward smile.

“Morning?” She whispered sheepishly, throat still aching.

“It’s actually afternoon.” He said, snappishly, then leaned forward and hugged her tightly. Sansa sighed, and eagerly returned his embraced, feeling guilty at the worries she placed on his shoulders. As the next eldest Stark, she was sure he had to take charge of a few things in order to settle her people whilst she combated against the forces of nature.

As he pulled away she asked, “And how are the people at the Wall?”

“None were harmed in the storm, but some did succumb to the injuries from the battle.” When he noticed her face fall in grief and guilt he hastily interjected, “But that wasn’t your fault! They were injures that they would’ve fallen to anyways.”

“But maybe they could’ve gotten help if I fought harder.” She argued weakly, wilting at the glare the met her response.

“Sansa. You fought, and I can not stress this enough- against a _snowstorm_ that had been brewing for _8,000_ _years, and won._ I think you’ve fought hard enough.”

She couldn’t reply, just bite her lip and nodded. Rickon then came bursting in the room, her friends quickly following behind him. Rickon leaped onto the bed and she groaned at his weight landing on her aching body, but still happily returned his affections. It’s then she noticed the bandages wrapped around her fingers, as her arms struggled to embrace him, shaking weakly.

Bringing her hands up to eye level she inspected them for a second, then sent a questioning look to her friends. Shae was the one that answered, as they all gathered around her bed.

“You played until your fingers bled, Sansa.” Her friend whispered, horrified. Sansa made an ‘O’ shape with her mouth in queasy understanding. Jeyne too was pale from the injures that Sansa inflicted on herself. Sansa couldn’t have imagined what it must’ve been like to watch your friend play and play the harp for days and nights, whilst the fingers split open and bled. How they had been unable to stop it. A then thought occurred to her about needing to eat and relieve herself, then she felt her stomach protest at the lack of food.

The gurgles resounded around the room and Beth gave a small smile. “I’ll go get you some soup, Sansa,”

Smiling at the younger girl, Sansa whispered, still gentle on her throat, “Thank you, Beth.”

After eating, relieving herself, and then dressing, Jeyne and Shae helped support her as she walked into the great hall, where all the current residents of Winterfell had bunked down during the storm. When she stepped through the large doors, many stood up and murmured in relief and some in worry at her appearance.

Even with being dressed neatly and her hair washed, she must still paint a very weak picture, so with shaking steps, she walked passed her people alone, with her friends ready to catch her if need be. And when she came upon her throne, Lord Royce stood by the steps and gave her a smile of relief.

“Glad to see you’ve awaken, my Queen.” His blue eyes gleamed with unshed tears, the corners crinkling in that hidden smile of his.

She gave a short curtsey in thanks despite her body protesting at the movement, “Thank you for taking care of my kingdom whilst I was gone.” 

Lord Royce walked closer to her and offered a helping hand, which she gladly took in gratitude. Holding onto his hand, she ascended the short staircase, trying to hide her shaking from sight. Lord Royce gripped her hand tighter at the feeling, and when she sat down, it was with a silent sigh of relief. Looking up and watching over her people, all looking either concerned or reassured at her presence, Sansa quickly took a few second to gather her thoughts before speaking.

Keeping her tone as calm and reassuring as possible, she began to update her people. “The Long Night has come and gone. And spring has begun again. Though until the next harvest, food will continue to be tight, so the moderation is in place still. I’m relieved that all of you are safe and warm. And as for our brave fighters at the Wall, they have also survived the Long Night as well. And in the next weeks, they should be on their way home. The great hall will open up for the injured, as they should be arriving first. We will need to keep producing more bandages and medicine as possible. Please talk with my Stewardess,” She gestured to Jeyne on her left, “About amounts needed.”

Many of the people relaxed at the news from the Wall, and some seemed glad about having tasks to get back to, the storm keeping them stationary and restless. And then one brave soul, a little boy, stepped forward hesitantly and asked, “Y’grace? Are-are you alright?” Sansa couldn’t keep her heart from clenching at his small voice, touched that such a young child would show such concern for her. Gripping her armrests, she pushed herself up, arms less shaky with the brief rest, and walked down the steps to him.

When she reached the boy, upon closer inspection, she noticed a bruise on his cheek. A sense of worry flooded her and she reached out to Suha, hoping the castle knew of the origin of the injury. In return, Sansa got a flash of the boy tripping on a rock on the way to the great hall before the storm, rushing to carry supplies to the building.

Her bandaged hands, which were hidden under long sleeves, came into view as she brushed gently against the boys cheek, and hummed a soft tune. In an instant, the bruise fades from view, and the boy patted at his cheek in wonder. “What is your name, sweetling?”

“Kaleb.” He stared at her like she was something other worldly and Sansa felt a little uncertain at the reverence placed on her from such a young person. But still, she smiled at his concern of her weak state, and answered him truthfully.

“Well Kaleb, I’m feeling a little under the weather, but I’m healing up just fine. Thank you for your concern.”

His tiny shoulders slumped in relief and she wobbled as she stood back up, Shae rushing to her side to help stabilise her. ‘Apparently I haven’t healed as much as I thought.’ Sansa pondered. Sighing internally, she spoke again to her people, this time, their eyes were filled with awe.

“Many of you may not understand, and some may only think it to be legends and stories. But the return of Northern magic has begun, and it has taken it’s toll on me in order for us to have survived the Long Night. So I apologise, but I will be needing rest for the next few days.” She was met with no protests so Sansa began to leave the great hall with the last parting words, turning back to look at her people with eyes filled with happy tears.

“Once again, I’m so very _relieved_ and _overjoyed_ , that _all of you_ are alive and well.”

And then she took her exit.

And just as she said, the next few days was spent in bed, reading through paperwork and dictating Jeyne in what to write, as she was told to let her hands rest. Upon hearing that some small folk left to inspect fields, Sansa wished to know how the land faired after the onslaught of frost and cold.

It wasn’t good news. Many crops that were hardy enough to survive a normal winter had died in the Long Night, destroying much of this new year’s harvest. If they don’t get any relief from Essos or even the Reach, her people will starve.

She had gone to bed that night, a pit in her stomach that was filled with panic and fear, worrying over what the future will hold for her and the people of the North. And as the darkness overtook her frantic mind, she opened her eyes to the godswood again.

Though this time, there was no snow upon the ground, just forest dirt and debris. The air felt warmer, and this time, she did not need an encouraging whisper to pull her in the direction of the god. Sansa walked there with no hesitance like last time.

And there, she greeted the familiar form of the Old God, tree blood body standing before the pond. But unlike last time, she went down on her knees, and bowed in supplication and gratitude.

It’s words carried through the rustle of the weirwood tree leaves.

“ _You do not need to bow to me, child._ ”

Bringing her head up she asked, “Then _how else_ will I give thanks?”

“ _I did not do much, Winter Queen. It was you and your ancestors that did._ ”

It walked to her and held out a hand for her to take, which she did after a moments pause. It’s hand was just as warm and dry as before. Back on her feet, the god turned over her bandaged hands and spoke again. “ _Many times, I am disappointed by mortals, and the decisions they make. But few times, I’m greatly pleased._ ” the words sounded like the greeting call of birds in the morning. “ _Time and again, I have seen you strive for and succeed your goals. The Winter Kings were similar, but a queen is new. And something this world will need. New. For 8,000 years and more, the people have been stagnant, have not expanded their knowledge, have not explored. They have become less open to the new, and with that, magic has become forgotten._ ”

She shuddered a breath as the wind ran through her hair, leaving behind a disappointment in her chest. Letting go of her hand, the god cupped both her cheeks, words severe and solemn. “ _Your queenship has reawaken many ancient beings, many Old Gods. Not just in the North, but for the rest of the land as well. The mass blood that has been spilt in the past war had been taken as an offering, and your power during the Long Night has stirred them to life again._ ”

Staring gobsmacked at the faceless face in front of her, she stumbled out, “But, my reach was only in the North?”

It shook it’s head. “ _You extended further than you think._ ” The hands drifted away from her face, that which she had been leaning into and walked over to the pond, asking her, “ _Do you know why, there have been no Queen’s of Winter?_ ”

She blurted out what she had heard Cor say many times. “The patriarchy?” She knew what it meant, but maybe the god didn’t, so Sansa tried to rethink her answer.

Luckily, the Old God knew what she said, and the amusement was felt in her stomach and lungs like a fulfilling meal and it replied, “ _Close, but not exactly. At first, they believed that women could not hold magic. And then when they did, they feared it, because many of the women’s magic was stronger than theirs. They feared what a powerful female could do on the throne.”_

“But that’s _ridiculous_!” Sansa blurted out.

The hum sounded like the buzz of honey bees in the air, agreeing with her. “ _Mm, the Old Gods thought so too. Of course, gender is something we don’t find to be a hinderance like many mortals do. But there is a special kind of magic in a woman. Do you know what that is?_ ” It turned back around, facing away from the pond, and tilted it’s head in question. She had slowly become accustomed to the lack of features, just the slight, smooth, protrusion of a nose and that was all. Sansa did not need expressions to understand her god’s emotions, as they were clear in the sounds heard as his voice. 

Thinking to herself, she uncertainly answered, “We, can create life?”

The air filled with the smell of wildflowers, of pride. “ _Correct. Male is necessary for the process, as the equal amount of the two gender helps, but the carrying of the child, the magic and the blood that goes into that being. It’s all from the female body, which is stronger in magic. Because females are born with an excess of supplies necessary to carry and provide the magic for their future children._ ”

A thought of dread filled and she dared to ask, “So, if I have children, I lose my magic to them?” It wasn’t that that information would stop her from not wanting children. But...

The air stilled around her, and a weight of interest laid itself onto her shoulders. The god stepped closer again, head cocked, “ _Does the thought of no magic frighten you, little queen?_ ”

She stuttered over her answer at first, not knowing how to respond.“I-would be lying if I said no. My magic has kept me safe, it has helped me and many others. And I wish to continue using it for that same purpose.” But that wasn’t all. There was more, a deep insecurity hidden in her chest as she confessed to the Old God, “And, I feel that if I lost my magic, I would not be a Stark. _A true Stark._ ”

The sound of a babbling brook entered her hearing and the god laid it’s hand on her head, patting it softly like she was a small child. “ _The Old Gods have no names. Only the collective title. It is not because they are lost, but because names do not service us a purpose. We are what we do. I am the god of spring, of birth, of the sunlight that shines at dawn and through storms. I am the fresh dirt under you feet and the food that you grow and eat. I am hope and hearth_.” As it spoke, the sunlight that was streaming through the red leaves brightened considerably, casting an orange glow around them. “ _Names are not what makes us, little queen, but our actions. Stark or no Stark, you are the Winter Queen, as you’ve shown it through your survival and compassion. That title has been earned through your actions._ ”

The thing about the Old Gods, was that unlike with the Seven, they don’t have a name or title, just as this god had pointed out. So more often than not, their worshipers prayed to all the Old Gods instead of one specific god, not knowing which would be the best. To know that this god had stated it’s purpose and domain, and to now _know_ it, she realised with a start, “ _That_ is why you helped us. You did not _wish_ for a Long Night.”

It nodded, the still pond rippled with approval. “ _The Long Night was a natural process, but it was consistently held back or smothered by past Kings. In doing so, it’s power built up to what you fought. That was why you had such long summers, summers that should not have took so long to fade._ ”

She frowned in confusion, and asked, “But, why would they stop the natural process?”

“ _They feared each Long Night, was to be the one you fought._ ”

Her eyes widened, and she spoke in disbelief, “It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. _Because_ they kept _preventing it_ , they _caused_ the Long Night. But, did _I_ just do the same?” Dread filled her at the thought of just adding to the situation. But the trees creaked around her, birds flying away in the distance and the Old God laid it’s hand from her head to her shoulder, squeezing it tightly in reassurance. In the distance, a tree creaked as it swayed in the wind.

“ _You did not smother it but spread out, so that the storm would not be so fixed and strong on the North. You did right, by not quieting the storm._ ” She let out a breath of relief, worry dissipating in the warmth of the Old God’s approval.

Looking up at the blank, dark red face, Sansa wondered, out loud, “And what about the Night King?”

Twigs cracked and snapped in the distance, a rabbit ran through the bushes and the god shruggged in nonchalance.“ _The Long Night had nothing to do with the Night King. That was a curse upon a man who wanted more than he should have_.”

“But who _was_ he?” She whispered, a question that constantly stirred in her mind.

The godswood stilled to a deadly quiet, and apprehension settled heavily in her gut, think she over-stepped. “ _His name has been forgotten, even by the Old Gods. He should not be remembered other than the actions he has committed. That is the punishment he deserves for his greed. To be forgotten._ ” Though it was hard to tell, with how the god would speak with the sounds of nature, but in her mind she could understand it all as a voice. But, Sansa thinks uncertainly, that the god was holding back anger at the Night King. That the god was _pleased_ with his punishment.

But Sansa bit her lip, knowing that it was best not to argue. It wasn’t that she didn’t think the Night King shouldn’t be punished, it was that the thought of being forgotten made her think of Suha. But that situation was _different_. And instead of voicing these thoughts, she just breathed out, “ _Oh_.”

The god stepped back, the leaves shivering and wildflowers touch her nose again as the god ended their conversation. “ _The land needs healing, little queen. A blood sacrifice, is the strongest one. I do not expect death, but as you’ve bled for the castle, bled for the storm, you too shall bleed for the lands. Come find me little queen, and usher true spring into the world again_.”

With the traces of dirt and pure life lingering in her senses, Sansa awakens from her dream.

And over her bedside, was Melisandre. Her hand clutched at the knife under her pillow, tensed and at the ready, staring at the other woman. She didn’t know whether to scream or lunge at the priestess, dagger to her throat.

But the woman does not come closer, just continued to observe her from the door, head cocked in interest. Sansa slowly sat up, warily watching the woman for any move to attack. The silence was heavy and faintly awkward.

Darting her eyes around a little, Sansa asked, “Do you _need_ something or are you just wanting to watch me sleep?”

The accented voice answers with the tone of mystery always present. “I do not mean you any harm. I wish to speak to you is all.”

Breathing out in frustration, Sansa kept her voice level as she asked through gritted teeth, “And you couldn’t have done that when I’m dressed and not in bed, asleep?”

The other woman shrugged like the rudeness of her actions were of no concern, “You are so often surrounded by many followers, and a private conversation will be best.”

Narrowing her eyes, Sansa was too tired to give a more polite response and snarked out, “You see, that _doesn’t_ comfort me.”

But still, Sansa climbed out of bed, keeping it in between her and the other woman, fist still gripping the blade. Grabbing her robe and tying it on, she waved for the woman to go back her solar, wanting this conversation to not be in her and Cor’s room. Sansa felt suddenly very exposed and invaded, and reached out to Suha for comfort.

The castle hadn’t awakened her, maybe unable to do so with how she was communing with a _literal god_ , but right now, Suha just felt on guard, but not panicking. If Sansa was truly in danger, there would be help coming in seconds.

Sitting at her desk, she gestured politely for the other woman to sit across from her. The red priestess does. “What did you wish to speak of?”

The woman clasped her hands and spoke, “You have changed much. You and your Shield.” There was a hint of annoyance Sansa picked up, feeling satisfied.

“Good.”

The woman narrowed her eyes and her voice was cutting as she retorted with accusation, “Is it though? The prophecy-“

Sansa cut her off, angered at the woman’s persistence with her prophecy, “Prophecies _should not_ dictate the lives of humans. If it comes to pass, than so be it. But they should not be _forced_ onto the masses or the one.”

There is a pause in the conversation, Melisandre having not expected such vitriol. She pursed her red lips in disapproval and tried for a different approach. “When I gazed into the flames, I saw the Prince who was promised. And now, I see nothing. My lord shows me nothing.” The frustration was present so strongly that Sansa held back the need to roll her eyes.

Blandly, Sansa asked, “I do not see how that has anything to do with me.” And maybe she is lying, as Sansa is well aware that her and Cor had thrown the entire predicted future onto it’s head.

The woman must agree because she leant forward, desperate and aggravated at Sansa’s lack of concern, “It has _everything_ to do with you. Your castle is _alive_ with deep magics, _blood magics_. That storm, it was battling against powerful magic, that I _know_ came from you-“

Finally Sansa snapped, now on her last tether, tired from being woken up early and bothered with something that she has no care to worry about. “Maybe, your god holds no true _power_ over the North, have you thought of that? They are called _the Old Gods_ for a reason, and perhaps, they are much older than your lord of light.” Leaning forward, fingers laced, Sansa bluntly stated, voice low and menacing, “I’m going to be _blunt_ , priestess. I want you _out_ of my home and _out_ of the North. You may go to the Stormlands with King Stannis if your wish, but either way. _I don’t want you here._ ”

The woman took that as her dismissal and stood up, fuming but well hidden with a placid face. As she reached to the door, Sansa called out casually, “And if I hear that Princess Shireen has been burnt as a sacrifice. Please know that _nothing_ will stop my Shield from hunting you down. We don’t take _kindly_ to burnt sacrifices here in Westeros.” The woman left with a more hurried pace after that, and Sansa leant back in her chair, huffing exasperation.

As she was already up, Sansa tugged on her boots, swung a cloak over her already robed body, and silently walked through the castle. She wished to go to sleep again, but the god’s last words continued to echo in her mind, so she thought it would be best to do as it wished as soon as she could. Daybreak was just hitting the trees, weak light filtering through the godswoods as she walked into it, heading to the weirwood tree.

The nature felt more and less at the same time, than her dreams. In her dreams, she felt more closer to the gods than she did in real life, standing under the weirwood tree, but there was still the strange blurred edges that all dreams held, even one from the gods. Sansa almost expected to see the god of hope and hearth, blood red sap body standing by the pond. Instead she was physically alone, but felt the weight of many eyes on her form.

Looking at her fingers, still bandaged but healing well, Sansa unholstered her dagger from her leg, and like with the hot spring, cut into her forearm over her previous scar. She hissed at the pain but carried on, smearing her fingers into the warm blood, and stepped up to the face of the tree, beginning to paint her blood onto it.

Her blood mixed with the weeping sap from it’s eyes, and it dripped down to the mouth, almost as if it was feeding the face. A breeze shivered it’s way through the red leaves and she heard her god speak, a soft whisper of nature in her ears, quieter in the waking world.

‘ _Little queen, I accept your offering and you have paid the toll. Speak what you wish._ ’

Holding her hands, bloodied, away from herself, she spoke clearly and confidently. “My land, it is dead and frosted over. My people will starve in a years time. Please, I beseech you, heal my land.”

‘ _Ten years you must offer on the first day of spring, the blood of the winter queen. Ten years you will usher the world into a rebirth. Ten years, and the price will be fully paid. I will accept no less._ ’

Nodding decisively, Sansa vowed, “My blood is yours, god of hope and hearth.”

A gust of wind rushed passed her at her last words, Sansa trying to hold onto her cloak tight to keep the last bits of winter chill away from her body. And as the wind died, she took a glance around, and spotted faint green buds growing up from the side of the pond. Sprouts that weren’t there before. Taking a closer step, she knelt down to examine them and spotted something in the water.

Where her refection should be, was the red, faceless face of her god. In a blink, it was gone, and just her face staring back, bewildered.

After that, things began to rush forward. With in a weeks time, she was getting reports that the land was healing and growing at a miraculous rate. The trees were sprouting buds of flowers, in preparation for the fruits to emerge. Sansa even spied a tree, that she was certain was a regular oak tree, was now growing as a lemon tree. Jeyne and Shae had side-eyed her when the three of them walked passed it one morning, and Sansa had given the tree a small, secret smile.

They had asked, how the land as healed in such a way. And Sansa just made a noncommittal noise and offered the answer, “Magic?”

They stopped asking, exasperated.

But with the snow melting within days, and the warm sunlight having people exiting their homes with hope in their eyes, Cor sent a raven that the injured were already on their way to Winterfell. She had a suspicion that Cor would be one of the last to leave, wanting to make sure that all his people were on their way back. She couldn’t help the sigh of fondness that left after reading the letter. His care and fierce protective nature over his people was what allowed him to gain such loyalty. But she still missed him and wanted him home as soon as possible.

She could feel his worry in her chest, worry for his people, she was sure. And Sansa bet he could feel the same from her.

So when three weeks passed, and the guards yell of arrivals, Sansa was there to greet her soldiers. They come in, many laying on the backs of carts, too injured to move. Others who could sit up were crowded together. The rest rode on horses, most likely lacking in strength to walk.

In an instant, the people who stayed in Winterfell were crowding around the injured, helping them from the carts and horses and into the great hall. Sansa was not dressed in the finery that would normally call for her station. Instead she wore one of her many simple woollen dress, as with the past winter, she did not find it appropriate or necessary to wear such clothing. And over the top of her soft green dress, was an apron covering her entire front of her dress. She was to help her injured people, now that her magic and body had fully healed.

Hair in a tight braid, she entered the great hall behind a few other injured and set to work with diligent purpose. Directing the injured to the pallets set up, she had the most severe lying down, with those who only had non-life threatening sitting on the benches. The many fire places lining the walls were roaring, ready to warm the cold and injured.

She could potentially heal all at once, with her harp, but she had learnt that people would heal better when you focused directly on what was injured. Plus, she wanted to talk with each of them, offering any support they may need.

Maester Wolkan, towards the beginning of the preparations for the war with the Night King, had taken as many volunteers and taught them how to make poultices and to sew up wounds. Cor had approached him and given the man the books he had on medicine, and for around a week, Cor had to walk the maester throughthe unfamiliar terms. With the application of ‘ _modern medicine_ ’ as Cor put it, there was a barrel by the door filled with warm water and a few bars of soap on a table next to it. After dutifully washing her hands, like many others who entered before her, she pushed her sleeves up and went to the first patient.

If the patient was coherent, she would ask for the whereabouts of the injury, and then lay her hands around it, humming softly as her magic flowed. The topic of her magic never really came up, Sansa unsure on how to broach the subject, so she thought the best way to truly introduce it to her people, was to help heal them.

And she did. With her magic, she went to those who were on death’s doorstep, healing where salves and stitches would not help. Her hands would faintly glow gold, and after the first few times people stopped and stared in wonder, they soon adjusted and went back to work.

Sansa fluttered to and from different patients, talking to them gently, finding that her voice was enough to help her magic flow, as long as she was making some noise. She focused mainly on the most injured, as things like broken limbs and deep cuts could wait, where as a festering gut wound wouldn’t. The helpers had dropped her title after the first few times calling for her to help with a rapidly declining patient, and instead resorted to just calling Sansa. She knew that in any other situation that wasn’t as dire, that would never happen. But in this case, she did not care, her people coming before her titles and staion.

As they all arrived in the earlier morn, around afternoon time she had to rest to replenish her energy. Compared to the storm though, that was nothing. With thirty minute break, eating some bread and cheese and sitting by a few conscious patients, Sansa listened to them talk about the battle with rapid attention.

One was an archer, who ended up breaking their arm catching another archer who was almost pulled off the balconies when some of the undead climbed the Wall. He talked with astonishment at the sight of Cor cutting through the enemies, of taking on a giant by himself, and then again with Luka and Talbert. He spoke With hushed revere at the god Cor had summoned near the end of the battle. Sansa, though amused at the hero-worship in some of the soldier’s voices, was more worried with some of the tales That were told. With the news that he blacked out and was unconscious for a day worried her greatly for the rest of the day.

Still, she kept with the healing, and if by the end of each day her hands were raw and sore from constantly channeling her magic, that was no one’s business but hers. She went to bed tired and would eat a massive portion of food, but the next day, she was refreshed and ready to begin anew. Still though, her hands were taking on a constant redness by the time two weeks had ended, and the majority of the wounded were healed and taken care of. All that was left was mild injures.

By the end of the month, almost the entire Northern army had come back to Winterfell. The some of the men of the Wall and even the Free folk were travelling down to celebrate. Sansa of course worried about food stores and only Jeyne was more worried than she was, flittering around the castle, talking with the cooks with e fearful impatience. 

They would be able to only hold a very small feast at the most, not enough to feed all of the fighters. Sansa bemoaned at not being able to fully thank everyone for fighting, and the only solution was to get everyone drunk enough to not care to feast, as they had plenty of alcohol.

But then, Lord Manderly came through, with the second load of food shipped from Essos. Riding in on a horse with carts full of food, Sansa could only breath a momentary sigh of relief. Because, with the war now over, she had to finally deal with how much she owed the Lord.

Cor still hadn’t returned with the last of the soldiers when her and Lord Manderly held a meeting in her solar. The large man took the seat across from her, wood creaking under his weight, and sent Sansa a knowing look. Still, she would remember her manners first before hopping into the main conversation.

“I wish to thank you again, Lord Manderly, for allowing the use of your ships for both the mining at Dragonstone and for the food.” She began, and he smiled jovially in return, waving off her thanks like it was nothing.

“It was for the necessary survival of the North, my Queen.”

Pursing her lips, she continued, voice growing delicate at the broach of topic, “I could only think on what I could do to pay you back for such services.”

Coming to the main point of the meeting, his genial manner faded into the lord you would expect from such a rich and powerful family. He assessed her before speaking, holding up two fingers. “Two things, your majesty.” Her stomach dropped, but she nodded for him to continue. “Which ever daughter wishes, they may be brought into the fold as your maid in waiting. Even the She-wolves, if she wished.”

Something you would have offered anyways, and was happy to decided right away, “Done. And the second?”

He paused before speaking, “Your future children. I want a written betrothal for them and my grandchildren.” She held back the sigh of relief, already nodding in agreement.

“As long as the children in question are of similar age and they do not get married until both eighteen.” She said firmly, not willing to be moved on this decision.

Lord Manderly nodded, “Done.”

They spent the next hour going over the details of the future betrothal, and Sansa was grateful that the man hadn’t asked for her own hand in marriage, as she would be honour bound to agree. As the contract was finished, with the ink dry, the lord stood up and bowed, but Sansa couldn’t let him leave yet, not with the question on her tongue.

“Why didn’t you ask for my hand, my lord?” She hated how small her voice became, asking the question.

He laughed, incredulous, “ _And go through that Shield of yours!?_ I would sooner through myself into the harbour than anger that boy.” He shook his head in disbelief, laughing again.

And with that, the lord exited her solar, leaving Sansa faintly mystified at his words. ‘ _Does everyone think he is terrifying?_ ’ She thought to herself, before shaking her head, clearing her thoughts. She had work to do, specifically trying to find room for everyone to stay. The Free folk were happy to pitch their own tents outside the walls of Winterfell. But with King Stannis’ army and the Vale’s, plus some of the Night’s Watch that were coming down, space would be needed. The great hall was not available, as the feast would be held there. The barracks on the other hand were still not completely full, so the people would all have to go there.

Jon was coming down the Wall as well, as he was both the one who slain the Night King, and Arya was eager for him to visit home. Sansa on the other hand was not hopeful on the meeting, specifically her and Jon. The last they truly spoke was when she visited the Wall to change it’s structure, and that was at least 8 months ago. They had parted on awkward terms, Jon still not happy with their argument and Sansa unwilling to take back her, _very correct_ , opinion.

And then there were the letters of Jon supporting the decision of Rickon and then Bran in taking the throne, to which she politely but firmly stated that neither wished for the throne, with both boys writing to affirm her words.

_And then_ , there was her polite, in Cor’s words ‘ _Fuck you_ ’, letter about insulting and doubting their relationship, as well as hurting Cor in such a way that he very nearly _killed_ Sandor.

So their reuniting would not be on the best terms, but for the sake of her younger siblings, she would smile and make amends. Winterfell was his home still too, and it would be harsh to bar him from coming back or making him feel unwelcome.

And then, a little over a month and a half of waiting, the last of the soldiers arrived. This time, unlike with the many injured, they received bigger fanfare of a welcome. Cheers and whistles rang through the air and even Suha rung her bells at their arrival, over joyed at the return of Cor. Even if Sansa hadn’t seen the memories, she would still figure out that Suha was a little in love with Cor, not that she could _blame_ the castle.

She waited on the steps as they all filed into the courtyard, and like with all the last arrivals, family and friends come swarming in, greeting each other tearfully. Sansa watched on, her chest slowly tightening as the minutes tick by, searching for Cor. The aching bond that stretched with the distance between one another had began to loosen at his arrival. Looking around trying not to show her desperation, her eyes wandered over the crowd and spotted him, weaving his way through to her. He looked bedraggled from travel, but no less whole and her worry uncurled from her chest.

They locked eyes across the sea of people as he broke away from the last of the crowd, and Sansa couldn’t hold back the wet laughter of relief that escaped her as she ran down the steps and flung herself bodily into Cor.He too let out a choked noise of relief, and their bond sung with their reunion. He held her closer, his warm embrace an _achingly_ familiar sensation and she wondered at how she had managed to survive without it for so long. He smelt of the usual dirt and travel sweat, but there was still that lingering scent of _Cor_ under it all. She let her tears flow as she hugged him back just as tightly. And then soon enough, their heads drew back enough to touch lips.

Her hands cupped his cheeks as he lifted her up off the ground and spun her in circles, euphoric with returning. Loud in her ears were the whistles and cheers at their kiss and Sansa did not care that it was in front of the majority of her people. She did not care if it was inappropriate. She kissed him because she doesn’t care to hide how much she loved this man. And she will declare it for all to see. Cor was _home_ now, and she will show her joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know how i said this would be 40 chapters, I’m pretty sure its will be a little over, maybe just a chapter or two. But hurrah! We are coming to an end now that the main battle is over. All thats left is the clusterfuck in the south. I hate sad endings, so this will be a happy ending, because fuck that noise they deserve it. 
> 
> I will admit, i will be relieved when this is over, because this story has turned into a monster i was not prepared to write. I did not think it would be this long and then shit took it’s own turn.
> 
> Also, the god i created, why make an asshole uncaring one, when you can create one that is baffled by humans but still rallying behind the ones it thinks are neat. The god is that meme of marge simpson holding a potato, but that potato is sansa. 
> 
> Next up, more reunions and and partying! Until next time, thank you for reading


	40. The weight of leadership and drunken mistakes.

Waking up from magical exhaustion was not on his recommended list of things to do ever again. He was out for a day, according to Luka and Talbert, having blacked out immediately after they won the battle. Cor then spent the entire snowstorm with his body aching but trying to keep his people fed and warm.

The injured were the ones struggling the most, and Cor tried his best to help as many as possible, but even after the battle was fought and won, his people were still dying. Soon enough he had a small sack filled with the dog tags of the ones who passed, and it seemed that everyday it got heavier and heavier. The mourning period was barely existent with how much everyone were focused on surviving the sudden snowstorm, that some had just stared blankly at nothing for long periods of time. 

The message from Bran was only helpful in warning them, and they were only half prepared when the snow came down heavy, people still darting to and from the outside, trying to get as much supplies as they could. Cor hated that they had to go from battling the undead to worrying about freezing to death with only a day’s break in between. And when that storm came, Cor could feel the magic seeping off the Wall, trying to protect it’s people. He doesn’t think the ghost heard, but Cor thanked Bran the Builder for doing his best. But even past the walls of the castle, the wind howled and raged, along with what he dreaded to accept to be Sansa’s magic.

Her magic was everywhere, and Cor prayed to The Old Gods, because they were the ones in charge of this land, that she survived. And as the days ticked by, every waking hour and night time were spent feeling Sansa fight against the storm, Cor really had not liked what the worry did to his heart.

Even his friends had looked at him in concern as he became more manic as the hours went by, unable to rest at the feeling of Sansa’s anger all around him. And it just tripled when the storm died down, and the connection between him and Sansa felt weaker than ever. He wasn’t even able to rest, constantly on his feet and trying to put all his anxious energy to use, commanding the injured to be prepared for transport as soon as the way is clear enough.

He had people preforming funeral rites on the dead, burning them as is the tradition at the Wall, plus people were still on edge that they may rise again. They had a mass bonfire, all the dead turning to ash at once, with Cor standing there until the fire had gone out. He was one of the last to leave the smoky ruins of the pyre, with Theon, Luka, Talbert and Podrick staying by his side. Some of his own people also stayed longer, mourning their friends and comrades that they have lost. And in the days after, he had the smell of burnt bodies stuck in his nose, and it seemed like he kept finding ash everywhere on him

The Elite Bastards, or specifically, the ones from his own army, came back whole if not a little injured and traumatised. Macel had a heavy limp in his right leg, Nikolas supporting the older man. Samson, Mathias, and Ava, were huddled in close to one another, a shadow over their eyes. In fact, many of his surviving soldiers had the same hollow look, and Cor did as much as he could, supporting them and trying his best to talk them out of their disassociation. 

It was like the weight of his position came crashing down on him, realising that nothing had truly prepared him for the fallout of the battle’s end. He knew that soldiers being shellshocked was normal, but Cor, truly facing it, saw that it was so different from how battle was in Eos. This felt dirtier, felt harsher, than any battle ever was there. He didn’t have to carry the guilt of all the people who he couldn’t save when in Eos, knowing he had to list down all the people who died and would have to talk to their families and friends that weren’t here for the battle. He had hidden himself in a room and went through all the dog tags, writing down their names and next of kin. 

The She-wolves seemed to also be struggling with the lingering effects of battle, but they were putting their focus on Arya, who was so heavily shaken, that even the sight of Jon returning wasn’t enough to help. Cor knew that her being on the battlefield wouldn’t be what she had expected or hoped. And this particular one wasn’t something anyone should have to fight. A part of him hoped that this would stay with her, so that she would never think of battle as something glorious ever again.

Regular people, Cor found it easier to fight against, but against the undead, who showed no fear or hesitation? That would fuck many up.And there were all the small folk that joined to help with the archery, and boy were they not handling things well at all. Granted, as archers, they weren’t up and close with the undead and Cor wanted it that way because they would be more likely to falter in the face of the enemy than a soldier would. He was able to train his army the best he could in dealing with the shock of war, but he wasn’t able to do the same with the small folk, not having the time to do so.

So as time crept on at the the Wall, Cor had filtered through the masses, talking to and reassuring as many people as possible. Letting them weep or vent on what they saw, with him there to talk them through it. It was emotionally exhausting, and fuck did he wish that they had therapists here to help. But as he was the Commanding officer, and the only one with any proper knowledge on therapy -which isn’t saying much because he only read shit in books and online- it was up to him.

Luckily, his friends were there to hep support the massive load that was leadership, and he delegated tasks, as all good leaders should learn. With Podrick and Luka teaming up to keep an eye on the supplies and managed it well, and then Theon and Talbert had watched over the injured, keeping everything organised and making sure the healers were on top of keeping the injured alive.

He then had to deal with Snow, who wasn’t so much as being completely arrogant at killing the Night King, but there was an almost smug air around him, that was certainly not endearing him to many. Cor would’ve stepped in to say something, if Stannis hadn’t gotten there first.

Cor had no idea what the hell the King had said to the other, but when they returned from their talk, Snow had a suitably chastised look about him. Passing Stannis is the hallway, he gave the man a nod in thanks and tried to hand back the horn given. Stannis refused.

“It is yours now. Think of it as a, token of my gratitude.” His normally dour expression was prominent on his face, but very subtly, his lips quirked upwards. 

Cor however was caught off guard and stumbled out, “Uh, you’re welcome?”

The man then just snorted and slapped him on the back as he walked passed, “Stay sharp, Leonis.”

To say he was completely baffled would be an understatement, but Cor just shrugged and kept the horn, not willing to put up a fuss.

But soon enough, the snow had rapidly melted, and Cor wasn’t the only person really confused at how the cold seemed to lessen, even this far north. But he didn’t ask questions, just had the maester of the castle send his letter to Sansa, letting her know of the conditions of everyone here and that he was sending all the injured ahead first.

And over the month and a half, the population in Castle Black began to dwindle, with most of his army and Stannis’ headed back to Winterfell. At this point, the Vale knights had been included in the Northern army training that he includes them in his head as his own people. He will be saddened to see them all go, especially Luka, who was part of the Vale.

But finally, he was the last group to leave the Wall, only some men of the Watch left behind. All the free folk were also travelling down to Winterfell, to reunite with their families, and because Sansa needed to go back over the truce with Tormund and his people.

Suha sang high and loud, as her bells rand with euphoria at their return. The cheers and whistles that greeted his arrival made the exhausting journey worth it. Cor couldn’t keep the smile off his face at the pure joy all around him. But the main thing that was getting him almost high with excitement was reuniting with Sansa again. It’s only been around two-three months, but it was long enough for him to crave her embrace.

He had to push through many of the people all crowded around the arrivals to finally reach her, their bond tugging him in the right direction. And when he reached the steps of the castle, where she stood above, watching the fanfare, he couldn’t hide the grin splitting his face. Her eyes shined as she ran down the stairs and bodily flung herself at him.

The relieved sob that choked out of him, as he clung to her like she would disappear, was muffled by her hair. She had it down, and he could thread his fingers through it as they kissed. His heart was practically beating out of his chest at how elated he was to be home. Weaving his arms around her waist, he lifted her up and span them around, the cheers and cries of the people echoing victory through his bones.

She pulled away and whispered to his lips, “Welcome home, my love.”

He grinned again, “I’ve missed you, my queen.” And then leaned in for another kiss, feeling her smile against his lips.

It took awhile for everything to calm down, with how many people had spilled into the courtyard, but finally the noise quieted enough for Sansa to speak. She had reascended the steps so she could look over the people and see them all. Cor had stayed down with the rest of the people, wanting to watch her in her element.

Her voice rang out, as she began, “Today, we will cheer and celebrate the return of our heroes, the ones who had fought and won against the night King and his army. To see so many of you return alive and whole is a relief, and I’m so _proud_ of how bravely you’ve all fought, even when the odds were so far stacked against us.” A resounding cheer echoed her declaration before it died back down. Sansa’s face then fell, becoming less joyful, and her tone went to one of true mourning.

“But there is also those who did not make it, whether on the battle field or the wounds they succumbed to.” The silence of the people was heavy many bowing their heads at her words, and Cor himself felt his chest clench with guilt, “I truly _grieve_ for everyone that was lost, and a ceremony will take place in two days time, to commemorate and grieve those that we’ve lost. _None_ will be forgotten.” She vowed.

A small smile then crawled back to her lips, and she announced to them, “Winterfell welcomes you all.”

Cor didn’t know if he should be here for the Stark family reunion, but either way, he tried to keep himself non-intrusive, standing near the door, whilst the younger siblings gathered around Jon. Rickon cheered at seeing his older brother, happily returning the hug the elder gave him. Bran and Jon had already been reunited, as well as with Arya, but they were still happy to see one another.

And then the room became awkward as Jon and Sansa faced one another. Rickon seemed to not know what was going on but the other two watched on unsure and nervously. Sansa’s face was completely blank, and curious, Cor peeked into her emotions and felt a warring fight in her mind. She didn’t seem to know what emotion to settle on, but decided on her relief at him being alive.

She gave Snow a welcoming hug and Cor could see the tension escape the man, obviously thinking everything was okay now. Which Cor knows for a _fact_ it isn’t, but doesn’t speak up on that matter. But his invisible act doesn’t work for long because Rickon spots him and came charging over, throwing his arms around Cor’s legs.

Chuckling, he crouched down and hugged the boy back, listening to him babble about everything that happened intently. He guessed that Rickon could give him an abridged version of everything right now, and talk to Sansa later. The boy started to ramble on about the ‘ _golden lights_ ’ and the ‘ _blue cave_ ’ and how Sansa played ‘ _for ages_ ’. Cor’s eyes glanced up to Sansa, and caught her gaze. She looked back calm and collected, and Cor figured that it would be better to discuss this when alone so Cor and Sansa could truly talk everything through, but for now, best keep a unified front.

“Well, I guess we have to thank your sister for keeping us all safe.” Cor finally responded to the boy and looked on fondly as Rickon nodded enthusiastically. When Cor glanced up he saw Arya demanding answers from Sansa, and a strange look crossed Snow’s face, and Cor wondered if another argument was going to occur. Thankfully, he kept his mouth closed and soon enough the reunion dispersed, with Cor and Sansa headed back to their room.

As soon as the door clacked shut behind them, Cor spoke.

“You were so...distant, for three days.” He stated, worry filling him again, and Sansa nodded. She didn’t seem regretful of her actions, and Cor wouldn’t expect her too.

“I was fighting the storm.” She said, and Cor sighed, unhappy with the answer but completely expecting it. “I thought so. I felt your magic everywhere.” He whispered, remembering the absolute terror of feeling her desperate rage and then the echoed sensation of their distant bond. 

She reached out and took his hand in her’s, squeezing it tight as she solemnly said, “I’m sorry that I worried you.”

Cor gave a soft huff of amusement, though it wasn’t that funny and murmured, “I could say the same.” And they shared a wiry smile.

For that hour or so, Cor listened intently as Sansa explained how she saw the Night King, how she directed Snow’s blade. She explained the god she met, the cause of the Long Night, and then how she helped usher in spring. He honestly felt more worried about how much energy she exerted over those four days than anything else. But he was proud of her, and how far she had come since they first met. They had laid on the bed for this talk and Cor could feel how his body had began to relax in the familiar and comforting sheets.

When she finished speaking, it became his turn to talk, and he didn’t really have much to say, more on the fact that it was battle, and he never really liked to talk about battle. Instead, he just went silent, seeing the faces of all those that had died burnt into his memories, remembering how he helped carry their bodies to the pyre. The dog tags in the sack on his back felt heavier than ever. How much his tears stung as he watched their bodies become ash. 

A soft hand jerked him out of his memories and Sansa stared back, concern filling her ocean blue eyes. Her hand stroked against his cheek as she said, “You do not need to speak, I understand.”

When she brushed his cheek, he felt wetness. “It _hurts_ , Sansa.” He gasped, his lungs heaving as he collapsed in her arms, sobbing into her shoulder. She was healing and regrowing the land, whilst he was fighting and watching his people fall when he failed to save them. _It hurt_.

To say he was not up for the feast was an understatement, body and mind still tired from everything over this last year. It felt like it creeped and flew by at the same time with all their preparations, and he was consistently on edge that to relax and party, was not something he had prepared himself for. Sansa and him had spent those next few hours tucked away in their bed, just seeking each other’s warmth and comfort. He really couldn’t say anymore on the battle, just murmured about seeing Gil, and how Tal and Luka stood by his side even after ordering them to retreat.

Cor spotted her relief at knowing he was looked after, mentioning that whilst she was using her magic to help, she felt so spread thin, not completely aware of everything that was happening. She relied on where her magic pulled her, and said that she didn’t even _know_ who killed the Night King until Bran told her.

As they laid in their bed, facing one another, Cor couldn’t help the weak chuckle that left him. At Sansa’s curious face, he gave a wiry grin, “We are _so_ fucked up.”

“Because of our magic?”

He shook his head and drew her closer to his chest, wanting to hold her, wanting to feel something real and _good_ than remember the battle. “No. Because we are fighting a war caused by adults _centuries_ ago. Their mistakes were placed onto our shoulders. I don’t know if we will ever fully heal from all this.”

She gripped his shirt tightly, and though her voice was muffled, it was no less resolute. “We will. I swear it.”

And then they finally had to get prepared for the feast, Cor watching as Sansa stripped the dress she was currently wearing, up and over her corset and underthings, and pulled on a new dress, a bit more appropriate for the feat. And where a maid or her friend would’ve laced up the back, Cor got off the bed and did it himself. His fingers made quick work, pulling and tying, and when he was done, she had span around and laid a thank you kiss on his cheek. 

With her dress done, she pulled out a nicer tunic and breeches from a trunk for the party for him to wear. He had just sighed in false exasperation, and pulled them on at her command. Cor let her fix up the lacings and straighten his Clothes. And when he looked at the mirror, he could say that he didn’t look too bad. The dark ensemble, he then noticed, were similar her dress colours. A dark blue tunic top and black leather jerkin, he matched with Sansa’s midnight blue dress. It was crossed from one side over to the other, like a robe, and had billowing sleeves and a faint fur lining. Her usually favoured direwolves running across her sleeves in a deep, blood red.

He rose an eye brow at how they co-ordinated well, and Sansa gave him a sly smile in return. He belted on his Genji sword, happy to have it back on his waist, and as they headed to the door, Cor held out his arm for her to take.

She then looked up at him in surprise and Cor realised that this was a gesture he had never done. Normally when they would walk around together, he would either be one step behind her, or by her side, but they would not be touching. Despite the fact that everyone basically knew they were together, they still tried to be discrete.

And then Sansa went and kissed him in front of the whole fucking kingdom so really, there isn’t much _point_ in being discrete now.

He couldn’t hold back the smile at how pleased she looked, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, and together they left their rooms. Though the halls were lit, it was dead silent, everyone already gathered at the great hall to feast. Cor was happy to soak in the silence before being surrounded by loud noises, feeling the joy emitting off of Suha.

“Cor,” Sansa began, soft voice echoing in the silent halls, “I want you to spend your time with your friends.”

Bewildered he blinked down at her, “What? Why?”

Giving him a stern look, she chastised him, “Because I want you to _not_ be working. I want you to have _fun_ tonight, because I know how much everything has been weighing heavily on you. So _enjoy_ tonight. Tomorrow you can work.” She then offered, and he nodded in concession.

“Alright.” He grumbled as they exited the castle, “I won’t be happy about it though.”

Huffing out a breath, she drawled, “Don’t expect you to be.”

They could hear the music being played, spilling out of the open hall doors, as they reached the great hall. The door had not been shut, leaving it wide open, with how much warmer the North had gotten with spring here. Plus, with all those bodies in one room, it would be get quite stifling, and the need of fresh air would be important. Upon entering, people had noticed them and a massive cheer resounded and both tried to hold back the flinch at how loud it was. However, Sansa smiled winningly at all her people and Cor tried not to look too annoyed at being here.

Cor tried to stay by her side, but then his friends jumped him out of nowhere, dragging him away from her. He looked at her pleadingly, but she just smiled and waved him goodbye. Hurt by the betrayal, he glared at his friends, but Talbert just smiled back, with only Podrick looking unsure. But that was his usual expression to begin with.

They sat him down between Theon and Luka and shoved a tankard of some kind of alcohol into his hands. Giving them an unimpressed look he deadpanned, “I don’t drink.”

“Tonight you do!” Theon declared magnanimously.

With an amused roll of his eyes he grumbled, “And why tonight specifically?”

Luka swung his arm around Cor’s shoulder and drew him close as he informed the other, “Because this will be the only time we will ever be able to see you relax and not worry so much.” Though it was said with a teasing voice, there laid a blanket of concern in his eyes, and Cor could feel his resolution to not have fun start to crumble.

Podrick then leant in, giving his own two cents, “We want you to have fun.” His face was completely earnest and Cor felt defeated in the face of such honesty.

Theon then ruined the moment, snorting into his drink, “No, I want to see him absolutely shit faced.”

Cor opened his mouth to snap something back but Talbert interrupted, tone urgent, “Wait hold on, I wanna ask a question!”

He rose an eyebrow and recalled, “Only if you finally tell us about you wrestling with unicorns.” Talbert’s face hardened like he was remembering something terrible, then sighed as if admitting defeat.

“Deal.” He nodded solemnly, and then shuffled closer in his seat and leant in, “Okay so, when you say you’ve fought bigger, what did you mean?”

Frowning, Cor took a small sip of his drink and made a face at the grossness of it, and asked Talbert, “What are you talking about?”

Waving his hands, like the gestures would help, he expounded, “Like, with giants or dragons, you’ve always told people that you have fought bigger things. What were they?”

Dread pooled into his stomach and he felt momentarily sick, though it could be the alcohol. Then he looked at the open and curious faces of his friends. He muttered to himself, aggrieved, “...I’m going to need to be drunk to answer that.”

Theon cheered and slapped his back, “That’s the spirit!”

Actually, he had to get _very_ smashed to even _begin_ to talk about his past, and managed to procrastinate talking about it by finally getting Luka to spill the beans on the lady down in the Vale. The boy blushed and stammered his way through the story, and Talbert then gave a very good demonstration of how to tackle a unicorn to the ground. Unfortunately, he used poor Podrick for that. The night then proceeded to blur together, and it would only be in the morning that he would remember _all_ the shenanigans that they got up to.

He woke up too early in the morning with the sensation of someone hammering his head, and a mouth as dry as the desert. The faint sunlight coming in through the window had him whining pathetically in pain and he dragged his pillow over his head to help block it out.

That seemed to jar the fingers, that were apparently caressing his head and hair that he didn’t even notice, away from their position. Peeking out from under the pillow, eyes trying to squint out the sunlight, he spotted Sansa sitting up in bed and watching him with an amused expression. She had a book in one hand and the other held up in the air, ready to resume if need be. Cor, then through blurry eyes, noticed the steam from a cup rising where it sat on her bedside table.

‘ _Gods what I wouldn’t kill for a coffee_.’ He internally moaned, and squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of pain hit his head. As he tried to focus on his breathing, the night before slowly came to the forefront of his brain. It all seemed completely normal until the end, where he sat up in bed in a panic. The movement had him flopping back down with another groan of pain as he muttered to Sansa, “ _I’m so sorry._ ”

“I know. You _told_ me last night.” She sounded too amused.

Peeking through one eye, he flopped his hands about gesturing like it would help shoW how truly repentant he was, “Like, really. I’m so, _so_ sorry, Sansa.”

With a snort, she closed her book with a snap and laid it on her table. She shifted around to face him better and mocked him, “And I so, _so_ understand. It’s alright Cor, I’m not angry.”

Pouting he muttered, “Even with the chickens?”

She bit back a smile and then contorted her face to one of deep seriousness. He was not convinced. “I thought it was a _very_ lovely apology gift, along with the roses you grabbed on your way here. _However_ , I do not think the people you stole the chickens from, and the roses you ripped from the ground were very pleased with your motivations.”

Rubbing at his eyes, he groused, “Fuck them, I was trying to make up for-“

Her sigh cut him off and he felt the bed shift. Peeking through his fingers, hoping to keep the light out, he saw her lay down to face him. “Cor. It’s okay. You did it with good intentions.” She tried to console him, but he asked in a piteous voice, “Even when I got in a drunken fight with Snow in the stables?”

Smacking her hand to her face, Sansa pointed out with a long-suffering voice, “You aren’t even apologising for that.”

He gave a contented sigh, remembering the punch he through and eager to see the massive black eye later. “Yeah, it wasn’t that much of a big deal.”

“Cor, you could kill a man and not apologise this much.”

“Uhhhh,” A drew out, “Murder isn’t _that_ of a big deal in comparison.” He retorted. She then gave him a reproaching look and sat up, grabbing the tea off the night stand.

She nearly shoved it in his face when she suggested, “I think you should drink this tea and go back to sleep.”

He sniffed at the tea but turned his nose up at the smell. It wasn’t coffee so not good enough. Instead he tugged his pillow back over his face and sarcatically snipped, “ _Wonderful_ idea. Maybe I will finally die from embarrassment.”

“I would hope not. _Talbert_ would miss you greatly.” She teased.

He groaned loud, trying and hoping it would block out memories as Sansa bursted into laughter at his reaction, the sadistic woman. ‘ _I’m never drinking again_.’ He swore to himself as he snuggled back under the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drunk escapades of The Boys™️ Will be a oneshot. And speaking of oneshots, send me some suggestions of missing scenes or interactions you would like to have seen. Nothing to do with anyone form the south, as i will be writing those in the next couple of chapters, but other things.
> 
> This chapter was a little all over the place, and i really needed to get through it all for the rest of the story. But you see a bit of survivors guilt, ptsd, and lovely reunions. As for Jon, he got a talking to by stannis so hopefully he will get his shit together. And arya has realised that battle isn’t all that glorious as it’s made out to be and the, literal 12/13 year old is kinda traumatised. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, until next time!


	41. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa travels south.

There were two memorials that Cor wanted constructed. The first was a Hall of the Fallen, where people could come and pay their respects. It wasn’t just for those that died at the Wall, but for any future battles that may come as well, because Cor knew war enough to know that it will never stop coming. Hopefully not in his lifetime again, but it will in the future. The Hall will be for any soldier that falls in the line of duty, a place to keep record of every troop, but also a place to mourn and honour them.

When he asked Sansa for this she thought to her self for a moment before suggesting the Sept her father had built for her mother. “She worshiped the Seven, not the Old Gods. So to make her feel more comfortable, he had it constructed for her so she could worship. As no one else uses it, it would be a perfect place. We would just need to take down the statues. A stone mason could be hired for your purposes.”

The next memorial was one that was to be made in the barracks, so that soldiers could remember the fallen, and remember that war was harsh, and not filled with honour and tales of glory like in stories. He planned for it to be a large rope, that hung around the edges of the ceiling and in the rafters in the common area of the barracks. And from the rope, all the dog tags of those that have passed, would dangle around it.

Each person had two dog tags on their chain. One would be given to their next of kin. The other would be kept on the original chain and hung around the rope. Hanging above them would be the reminder of the sacrifice people make in battle, to protect those who could not fight for themselves.

The Hall of the Fallen would take time to reconstruct, so instead Cor gathered all his soldiers that lived, letting Stannis’ deal with his people, the same for Tormund and Snow, into the common area. He had them all in the barracks, looking up at the dog tags that hung.

It was in the grieving silence, that Cor spoke. “I’m not good at speeches. You’ve heard them. But I want to do right by those who’ve died. I won’t say they are in a better place, because I don’t know where that place is. I personally believe there is no better place then with the ones you love. If they were in a better place, they would be here, with us now.”

Standing before them, he couldn’t help how his voice wobbled, “As your commander, I am meant to show strength, to show that all the choices I make are the best ones for my people. Commander is a person to rely on, but honestly, it’s just a fucking title. I may have made this plan, and I may have lead you all into battle, but I’m still a _fucking kid_. And most of the time, I have no fucking clue on what I’m doing.” His eyes were wet, though he swallowed back the need to sob. Unable to look at his people, he looked up at the glinting metal, firelight reflecting.

Taking a breath, he continued, “And looking at all the dog tags, they remind me of the mistakes I’ve made on the field, because I was unable to save them.”

“But,” He looked back at them, and saw how some faces were wet, and steeled himself again, trying to remain strong. “This isn’t about my really shitty confidence at the moment. This is about how _fantastic_ all of you were. How bravely you stood on that battle field against the undead, and how none of you faltered. I’m so _fucking proud_ of all of you, and the only thing I wish was that those that died were here as well.”

And then, towards the back of the room, a voice called into the grieving silence, “Commander, respectfully, I have to say that’s _utter_ bullshit.” Cor, startled, finally spotted them, noticing it was Ava, standing with Nikolas, Mathias, and Samson, those four never far from each other. Ava was firm with her words as she said, “You did the best you could with the time and people you had. Without you, _none of us_ would be here right now.”

Many heads nodded in agreement, with another soldier chiming in. Edmund. “Yeah Commander! You saved my fucking neck on the battlefield, and I sure as hell would follow you anywhere you command.”

The nods of agreement became cheers and hollers.

Yelling over the crowd, Luka spoke up, “I miss them too, Cor. But they would be giving you the finger for how you are talking about yourself!”

And they all quieted down a bit, a dark amusement, thinking of the good times mixing with the friends and comrades they’ve lost.

And Cor, he choked back a sob and snarked, “Well, it’s a habit for you lot. Whenever I did something you all hated.”

“And we’re hating your really, shitty speech!” Talbert jeered from the back and peels of laughter rippled through the soldiers and Cor flipped him off, hand high in the air. Unwavering, all of them returned the gesture.

Yeah, he felt a little proud at teaching the lot of them this gesture.

A week after Cor told her about the gathering, Sansa sat at her desk, looking at two scrolls. Jeyne stood at her shoulder, Wolkan on the other side of her desk, and both watched her with trepidation. One letter was from Robyn, talking of how King Tywin has ordered full forces from all to help fight against Daenerys, who had apparently grew impatient and burnt not only the farming land of the Reach, destroying a massive amount of food. But Kings Landing as well.

Twyin had fought her back enough that she returned to Dragonstone, but the majority of Kings Landing was burnt to the ground. The only good thing that came from the destruction, was the Twyin managed to kill two of the three dragons.

And then there was the other letter.

“Well,” The maester started hesitantly, “We knew the plague excuse wouldn’t work forever.”

“I’m surprised it even lasted this long.” Jeyne remarked, frowning in worry and contemplation. The door then creaked open, Cor stepping through and shutting it behind him.

He looked at all the grim faces and dead-panned, “It’s dragon lady, isn’t it?”

Sansa sighed and waved the letter for him to read at him, which he obligingly grabbed. She watched him mouth some words, face growing darker.

“She will either send her forces to us, burning Winterfell to the ground if we don’t kneel. Or you will come to her, to bend the knee.” He summarised. 

Cor then looked up from the paper and declared, “I want to kill her.”

Sansa huffed at him, “You aren’t the only one, Cor.”

Jeyne looked over at her again, worrying her lips. “So what are you going to do, Sansa?”

Slowly, Sansa leant back in her chair and explained exactly what she planned to do. “I will write to Daenerys, that I will come to treat with her. And I will write to King Twyin, that I am coming to treat with him. Then, I will break about the seven kingdoms once more, and finally I will go to Daenerys, and _destroy her._ ”

Her fist was clenched in anger and all three looked at her, startled by the viciousness her voice. Seeing their expression, Sansa rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue in irritation.

“Don’t look at me like that was unexpected, she just destroyed a large amount of food that is supposed to feed Westeros, and then proceeded to destroy Kings Landing. Do you know how many _innocents_ lived there? How many _children_ that she just burnt? She will pay for what she has done. _This I swear it by the Old Gods._ ” Her solemn vow had a whisper of divinity brushing her cheek, and Sansa knew that Hope and Hearth had taken her promise and will watch her make sure she kept it.

That day two ravens left Winterfell, one to Dragonstone, agreeing to come and talk, and the other to King Twyin whose many forces and family had retreated to Rosby in the Crownlands. And then Sansa finally sat down with Tormund and they began their treaty.

The main agreement was that any Free Folk that passed through the Wall, would have to adhere to the laws of her Kingdom. Past the Wall they could govern themselves as they usually do, but any crime committed on her lands would face Northern punishment. The Wall would become a place of trade, and the Night’s Watch would become those that could offer aid for the Free Folk as needed. Both decided that Jon would be the best go between, as he had experienced life beyond the Wall, and was born in the North.

The last bits were to talk about different things that they could trade. With Spring back, and warmer than the North had ever experienced, they could now grow a more variety of crops, and which they would be happy to trade with the Free folk for pelts and other things that the Free Folk could make.

The Gift was also given back to the Night’s Watch, but Sansa had decided to install a farming work force, as the land hadn’t been fully used in centuries. She offered that any Free Folk who wished to work on the land and adhere to her laws was welcomed.

The next meeting that needed to be held was with Stannis, which went surprisingly well, having expected him to disagree. When she laid out her reasons for breaking apart Westeros, and saying that the Stormlands would be his, he took the time to think and ask questions. He wondered about treatises they would have to make, as well as support from the other kingdoms. She informed him of how the Vale, the Iron Islands, the Riverlands, and Dorne were ready to put their support behind her plan. All that was left was the Reach, The Westerlands, and Stormlands.

“And for the Crownlands?” He had asked.

“Governed by one to two people, each representing the kingdoms. It will be a place of trade and farming. Dragonstone could be a port for storing supples and wares.” She informed him.

He frowned and reminded her, “Dragonstone is mine by right.”

She gave him unimpressed look, “It’s an island with a castle, that holds Targaryen history.”

Not backing down, he frowned harder, “And I technically have Targaryen blood.”

She sighed, exhausted from all this planning, and told him bluntly, “I can’t be seen favouring you, giving that place to the Baratheons. But, if you would accept governing it similarly like with Crownlands, then it could be a place where the Westeros Navy could centre around. If we get another attack from the East, having a force prepared to blockade them and fight back would be beneficial. Though you would have to be working with the Redwyne fleet and the Ironborn.”

“The Ironborn.” He deadpanned.

Hiding back her amusement, she nodded seriously, “Theon’s sister, Asha Greyjoy, is the only one I will be supporting for the ruling of the Iron Islands. She is the only one willing to not raid our lands and keep control over her people. That is the deal made.”

“And how do you know she won’t try to attack?”

“Though he isn’t technically a hostage, Theon wishes to stay here, in Winterfell. If she stepped out of line...”

“I see.” Both knew that she wouldn’t actually harm the young man, but it was still something that they could hold against Asha, and Stannis dropped the subject.

And then they moved onto strengthening their alliance. Sansa suggested marriage between Rickon and Shireen, though the boy a few years younger than the girl, Rickon would be fine with her being the Queen of the Stormlands and him just her consort.

“It won’t have to be for many years, but I would teach him well.” She assured him. “And if there is another alliance you must make to gain support in the Stormlands, than I’m willing to discard the offer of marriage. I understand that your Kingdom is fractured over two kings in the past, and you may need to make as many alliances as possible.”

“When do you plan to inform Tywin about all this?” He had asked.

Rubbing at her temples she replied, “I plan to travel to Rosby, and treat with him and the Tyrells. You may with come with, or go back home. Either way, I will negotiate with them and come out successful.”

He let out a huff of amusement, “I would call you arrogant, if I didn’t already see what you could do. And that Shield of yours.” She smiled at the man, and his face ever so slightly softened.

Alliance finalised, Sansa then started to have preparations made for her travel South. She also had to begin her goodbyes with Lord Royce, and to get used to not having his counsel anymore. It was a teary affair on the morning he departed, mainly on her end, though he did seem a bit misty eyed. And it was during the farewells, that Luka came trotting over to them.

Straight to the point, the boy declared, “My Lord, I wish for permission to stay in Winterfell.”

Said man looked exasperated and nodded, most likely having expected this. Though fortunately for the Lord’s sanity, all the rest of the Vale soldiers would be returning with him, many saddened to say good bye to the brothers and sisters in arms they made during the last year. At Lord Royce’s agreement, Luka had whooped and tackled Cor to the ground, much to her Shield’s displeasure.

Looking back at Lord Royce, she noticed the fond, nostalgic gaze sent the boys way, and her heart swelled. Pulling the man into a large hug, she didn’t know how to express her gratitude for everything that he had done for her. “Please write, My Lord.” She said instead, choking back tears.

“Of course, Your Grace.” He had that soft crinkled eye smile. 

Seeing them all off, Winterfell was less crowded, but for her, it felt more lonely. She loved having so many people here, as if it was her home before the Lannisters. But in some ways, it was also relief on her stores and food supplies, now able to start truly rebuilding everything. Sansa would’ve happily stayed up North, leaving those in the south to their own problems, if it wouldn’t have become her problem.

So within a couple of days, her, her first three She-wolves, Cor, and Luka and Talbert, all began to head south. Normally, a travelling group of this size would have called for a large procession, but Sansa didn’t want too many people coming with. She wanted this to be as fast as possible and a large group would make things slower.

Leaving Jeyne and Arya in charge of Winterfell, Jon having returned to the Wall with the Free Folk they left early in the morning, Suha crooned a soft good bye. They used tents for most of their journey on the King’s road-Cor muttered about paving it properly for better travel-and sometimes at the Inns they passed by.

It took her and her family a month to travel to Kings Landing years ago. For them it was three weeks of hard riding to Rosby. Sansa would admit she was nervous to travel South again, and could feel how her magic felt less strong than when in her own land.

However, on the day before leaving she visited the Godswood, praying for safety for her and her people, and a weirwood leaf had fluttered down from the tree to land on her head. She heard the sound of a babbling brook in her ears and smiled with relief. That leaf now was tucked in her dress, positioned over her heart. A part of her felt that that was the best place to keep the god’s favour.

As they neared Rosby, Sansa spotted the Lannister and Tyrell banners in the distance along with a large mass of tents, and her heart seized in instinctual fear. She had to take a couple of deep breaths before moving forward. On the hill top over looking the campsite, Sansa nodded to her people to dismount and begin setting up their own campsite. Near the top of the hill was a copse of trees, perfect to tie their horses to.

With the tents finished, Mya and Luka went searching for a nearby river to gather plenty of water for them and their steeds. When cleaned and fed, Sansa began to change into a more appropriate dress, and had Talbert and Luka go and send a message that she was here. Ellina and Lyn helped tighten her laces, fingers shaking too much to be of any use.

Her dress was in Stark grey, similar style to Baelish’s doublet, but an off shoulder neckline, and a short cape connecting to her sleeves. The cape had a large, snarling wolf embroidered on the back. The dress ended at her knees, with a black breeches and her usual laced up boots. The bodice was plain and elegant. The air was warm, and no cloaks were needed, but the She-wolves wore theirs with the embroidered wolf on the back. They were much thinner material though, as to not over heat them, as well as the grey tunics and brown breeches that have become their signature uniforms.

The boys on the other hand forgone cloaks all-together, but wore the grey and black colours of the Northern army. Cor himself went in his usual all black ensemble, and secretly Sansa was planning to start getting him to wear more colours in the future. Gilgamesh’s sword was in it’s usual place on his back, and his katana was at his waist.

Sansa thought that they are looked quite unified, a part of her was thrilled at the united front they were presenting. Luka and Talbert returned around the time Sansa had lowered the Winter Crown on her head. It was a heavy metal, and she normally went without it, but it would be needed today for the negotiations. And she could feel the connection with her magic strength with the ancient artefact. 

They rode into camp, Sansa at the front of the group, and many men parted the way, staring gobsmacked at her entrance. She sat tall and high on her steed, mask of cold indifference pulled over her face, ready to face the man that ordered her brother and mother’s death. At arriving at their destination, Sansa dismounted and they tied their horses to the post hammered into the ground

It was an open tent area set up in the middle of the camp, with King Twyin sitting at the head of the area, and Olenna Tyrell on his right. It was just them, and a part of Sansa was glad that Cersei wasn’t here, not wanting to face that woman right now. She needed to focus.

Upon entering the tent, they stood facing one another in an assessing silence, before Sansa gave a courteous bow. “King Twyin. Thank you meeting with us so quickly.”

He gave a perfunctory bow, his face set in a permanent grimace.“Queen Sansa, thank you for finally showing up.”

Her face was fixed in a polite smiling, ignoring his underhanded complaint. “Apologies for how long it’s taken me to come. I’ve been quite busy in the North.”

As they sat he responded, drawled and low, “Yes. Your letter of the ‘ _undead_ ’ was received.”

Folding her hands on her lap, she explained like it was a common occurrence, “It was a complicated matter, and needed to be dealt with first before any matters of the South.”

He hummed, eyes narrowed before asking, “And have you finally come to bend the knee?”

Her polite smile turned sharp, “Of course not. I have come to negotiate instead.”

He paused, “Negotiate.” The doubt and condescension in his voice had Sansa gripping her hands tightly under the table in annoyance, but kept everything else about her relaxed and poised.

Sansa nodded her head, “Yes, your grace.”

Olenna Tyrell finally speaks up, impatient with the conversation. “Well this is all well and good circling the matter. But how about we get on with it?”

As if the older woman graciously suggested the option instead of rudely barking it at them, Sansa bowed her head in agreement. “Of course my lady.”

She brings her hand up to sit on the table before her, as she started to explain,“I will begin by saying that even if you decide to not agree to the negotiations, the North will still stay independent.”

Twyin rose an unimpressed eyebrow and Olenna gave her a disbelieving look, but Sansa forged on. “Now then, why do you continue to fight for the throne, King Twyin? And you don’t need to answer that. It’s just a thought that’s been on my mind for quite a few years. Why do we continue to fight over who rules on the Iron Throne, when the Iron Throne was created by the Targaryens? The Targaryens that no longer rule these kingdoms. And even then, they only ruled for around a few centuries, whereas the Seven Kingdoms ruled their own land for much, _much_ longer.”

There was a heavy silence, and Twyin slowly said, “You propose, that we _break up_ the seven kingdoms.” A statement, not a question. He maintained a steady blank expression but she caught the sound of incredulous disbelief in his voice. 

Giving him a pleased smile, Sansa asked, “Aren’t they _already_ broken? Furthermore, why did you all continue to have the Iron Throne, even after Robert’s Rebellion? Why didn’t we go back to the way things were? The Targaryens were foreign invaders and I personally don’t understand why we have to continue bowing to their rules, _years_ after their defeat.”

She watched as his jaw began to tense over her speech, and listened as he gritted out, “Get to the point.” A part of her was satisfied with how much she had annoyed him, childish though it was.

Looking him directly into his pale green eyes, she responded, “My sister told me how much you care about your legacy. The Lannister’s legacy. What is a better legacy than the return of the King of the Rock. You love your land, that is a redeeming quality of yours, King Tywin. Why not rule it properly with the return of the Lannister crown?”

He tapped his fingers on his arm chair in thought and Lady Olenna leant forward, shrewd expression on her face. “And what of the other kingdoms, Queen Sansa? I hope you have found ways for alliances, as kingdoms don’t rule on hopes and dreams.” The patronising tone was frustrating, and Sansa hated that they were looking down on her, like she was a just playing Queen. What she wouldn’t give for them to know _exactly_ what she could do.

Instead, she kept her smile fixed and beamed at her. “Correct. They don’t. I have Stannis Baratheon ruling the Stormlands, and Dorne happy to rule theirs as usual. So is the Vale, the Iron islands, and the Riverlands open for this breaking apart of the country. My sister is to marry our cousin, Robyn Arryn in the the Vale. Queen Asha Greyjoy is to rule her lands, as her brother is still under my command. Riverlands has my Uncle Edmure ruling, so family blood connected. As for you,” She turned to Tywin, “The Reach has Lady Margaery to marry your grandson Tommen, thus an alliance. Myrcella with marry to prince Trystane Martell in Dorne.” The leaning back in her seat, she watched as they mulled over her words.

Then she chimed in again after a few moments of silence, “I assume that you have finally given up on your actual children, but your grandson is still young enough for you to mould into a proper King of the Rock in the future. He is as strong of Lannister blood as you can get.” His eyebrow twitched in annoyance, but he didn’t refute her claim, just retorted,

“And the Crownlands?”

Spreading her hands out, she dived into her idea she talked about with Stannis. “I propose we use that land for farming and trading, benefiting all the kingdoms. The ruins of Kings Landing could be cleaned and become a port for ships from the east. The land could be governed by one-two people from each kingdom, that way there is a say from everyone, creating a balance. Dragonstone could be a base for the Westeros fleet in case of another invasion.”

Her pleasant demeanour then faded away, and she faced them with a more firmer look. “We do not _need_ to continue to war over a hunk of metal that we never _wanted_ to begin with. Ruling all seven kingdoms is impossible. We are of differing culture and religions, and conforming to foreign rules is idiotic.”

Then Twyin pointed out, sardonically, “You seem to have forgotten to problem at Dragonstone, Queen Sansa.”

She rose an eyebrow back and cooly disagreed. “Of course I haven’t. I plan to go there after we finish negotiations and get rid of her. Whether by death or sending her back to Essos, it does not matter to me.”

Here he left out a derisive scoff, “And how do you plan to do that? With six soldier, three of which are women-“

She cut him off, coldly stating, “A body is a body that can be trained, what sex they possess is not of any importance.”

Olenna then let out a disbelieving laugh, “You do not even have an _army_ with you, child.”

Sansa waved her hand like she was brushing away the issue. “And I do not need one. Whether you believe I can go up against this false queen or not is not a matter I’m concerned with. I plan to succeed in my endeavour.”

“That same childish confidence is what lost your brother his crown.” Was the cold voice of Tywin, and Sansa felt her body still at his words. Cor’s agitation rose at the possible threat in the older man’s words, stepping half a foot closer. Sansa just raised a hand, stopping him from moving any further, her eyes never leaving Tywin’s.

Her own voice went as frozen as ice, and she replied, “Maybe so, but I do not plan on trusting my enemy’s _hospitality_ anytime soon.”

The air became fraught with tension, and Olenna decided to break it. “And how shall the North create an alliance? Friendship and family blood isn’t everything.” She gave Sansa a pointed look, almost smug.

Sansa dragged her eyes away from Twyin, voice still cold as she countered, “If you are _suggesting_ I marry one of your grandchildren, Lady Olenna, then you are sorely mistaken. And that goes for my false marriage with Tyrion Lannister as well. It was never consummated, so it’s not even valid in the eyes of the gods. If I am to marry, it will be a third son or very minor lord from the North, as I must still keep the peace in my Kingdom too.”

Sansa then stood from her chair, feeling the end of the discussion drawing near. “I have had enough with other peoples machinations, neither of you will be forcing my hand.”

Tywin then slowly stood as well, growling out, “And you believe to have to strength to fight off my men if I call them?”

“ _You may certainly try._ ” It was Cor who spoke, his dark tone promising and unwavering. The older two glanced over at him and Sansa couldn’t tell what they were thinking, but it did not matter at this moment. 

Brushing off imaginary lint from her dress, she finished the conversation. “Now, I will give you time to think over my offers. I hope you are both wise as your station and ages suggest.”

And then, with another polite curtsey, she left the tent, her guards falling in step behind her.

Despite how calm Sansa was trying to stay, she couldn’t help how stressed and nervous she was being back around Lannisters again. Cor, picking it, gently touched her lower back, coming up to her left side. Sending him a wiry smile in thanks, their group carried on thorough the campsite, all wary and vigilant. And when Sansa spotted their campsite in the distance, a familiar, cold sound stopped Sansa in her tracks.

“Little dove.” Sansa had to close her eyes, trying not to shake from all the memories that name stirred back up. Taking a deep breath, Sansa fixed her cold mask back on with tight efficiency, and turned gracefully around on her horse to meet Cersei Lannister gaze.

Hair just as golden and glorious as before, even now she looked like the queen she was despite how she no longer held the title. With her stands her twin, who looked more tired and less of the golden knight that he used to be. Cersei herself seemed to have aged since Sansa last saw her, faint wrinkles in her face.

To her group, she dismissed all but Cor, wanting them to go back to the camp and secure it in case there was any tampering. All five look reluctant but bow and leave, taking all the horses with them after she and Cor dismounted. They would have to walk back, but Sansa wasn’t bothered by that too much.

Walking closer to Cersei, Sansa dipped her head in greeting. “Cersei.”

“Well. You _have_ grown now haven’t you, little dove.” There was that faint sneer on her face that was ever present whenever they conversed. Her eyes then dragged to Cor, looking unimpressed with whatever she saw.

“And you’ve gotten yourself a guard dog as well.”

Smiling, Sansa nodded, “Yes, my Shield.”

She rose a scornful eyebrow. “A swornsword. And has he been _valiantly_ saving you from all your enemies then?”

“Of course, Cersei. Was there something you wished to talk about?” Sansa asked, holding back the need to just tell the woman to fuck off. Cor was rubbing off on her.

The false smile Cersei sent her way had Sansa’s already frayed nerves standing on end. “You were to be my good-daughter at one point. Can I not talk with you? Now that you are queen?” She held out an arm, like they were friends, offering to walk together. 

Playing her game, Sansa took it, and they began to stroll through the outskirts of the campsite. “Of course. How is Tommen?” Jamie and Cor stood some feet back, giving them space to talk, though Sansa could feel how much Cor very much hates this decision.

Cersei grimaces, “Well. To be married to that whore, Margaery.”

Sansa can’t help the honest amusement that crawled across her face as she offered, “My condolences.” Cersei narrowed her eyes, and tried to go for the throat.

“And you? Last I heard, you were to be married to that Bolton bastard.” However, Sansa had grown thicker skin the Cersei’s petty attempts at trying to hurt her. So Sansa just hummed and faked regret.

“Unfortunately, he met a _terrible_ end on our wedding night.”

The older woman’s lips quirked in a smirk of faint approval, though continued with the fake sympathy. “A _shame_. Though a lady of your standing can’t be scene marrying someone so low.”

Sansa sighed like she was talking more about a meal being disappointing than having to marry a monster. “I was more concerned about his tendencies to rape than his status.”

Her smirk fell and Sansa caught a glimpse of what could possibly be sympathy. It was a subtle thing, and was more than likely because of her own previous marriage, relating to Sansa well. “Yes, _well_ , men are like that. _Demanding_ much from us.”

And Sansa couldn’t help the way her mind trailed off to the thought of Cor as she murmured, “Only the bad ones.”

Regrettably, Cersei picked up on that show of honesty, and remarked, “Your Shield? _Surely_ you see that as a Queen, you can’t marry him.” Her tone held disappointment, and for a split second, it felt like it was Catelyn Stark expressing her own motherly disappointment on Sansa. It was a jarring feeling for the girl.

Dashing away that thought, Sansa firmly reminded the woman, “As it’s my Kingdom, and I am their Queen, they cannot tell me who I can or can’t marry. And I would love to see them try to go through him.” Sansa finished, smirk back on her lips.

Cersei let out a soft huff of derision, “It was that way with me and Jamie. No one could come between us.” And Sansa picked up on a sense of bitterness from the woman, and she wondered if the twins relationship was starting to truly crumble now.

“Yes. And now you can never experience proper love.” Sansa couldn’t help to point out softly, her blasted compassion coming through. The woman now let out a bark of laughter.

“ _Love_?” The grin sent her way was more like a lion barring it’s teeth, “Still dream about that fantasy, little dove?” She mocked.

Sansa fell silent, observing the woman next to her. The hollowness in her eyes, how she always seemed to be looking for enemies everywhere. The young queen then gently concluded, “You used to be just like me, didn’t you?” The arm under her hand tensed at those words. “Sure, you had higher aspirations than me, but you still wanted that fairy tale dream. And you thought you would have it with Robert.”

The quiet air was filled with an angry grief as Cersei drawled, trying to hide her pain behind cutting remarks. “And we _both_ know how that ended.”

“Yes. And your brother, who was to love you and protect you against anyone who dared to harm you, did nothing to stop Robert’s heavy hand.” And there, Sansa must’ve crossed a line because the hand on Cersei’s arm is suddenly gripped by the older woman’s other hand. Her green eyes blazed as she hissed out,

“ _And you think your swornsword would do the same?_ ”

Looking calmly into the furious eyes, Sansa answered with total confidence. “Of course. He does not care if he had to kill a king, he would protect me to his last breath.” Sansa then cocked her head to the side in thought. “Could you say the same about your brother? Your twin, your _other half?_ Is it truly love between you two? Or just an unhealthy _obsession_?”

The woman became frozen, and she seemed to be unable to find anything poisonous to say back. That was when Sansa knew she had hit a weak spot and decided to back off now.

Extracting her hand from the woman, she gave a genuine smile. “I’m glad to have run into, Cersei. I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve ever taught me.” The woman was brought back to the present, and rose an eyebrow, curious. “You’ve shown me exactly who _not_ to be.”

Sansa then turned away, not wanting to see the expression on her second mother’s face, and moved over to the two males. Cor’s shoulders were tense, and she did recall hearing a low discussion behind them and her eyes jumped to the older man, wondering what he must’ve said to have gotten Cor’s hackles raised.

“Ser Jamie.” She called, and the man looked over to her.

“Queen Sansa.” He held none of that previous sarcastic drawl that he had before. She was curious at what he must’ve gone through with Brienne to become that way.

Holding out her hand, she asked politely, “I should like the second half of my family’s sword back, please.”

That seemed to startle him, as he blurted out, “ _What_?”

Raising an imperious eyebrow, she expanded on her demand. “That sword you carry, it’s the other half of Ice, when your family took it from my father. As it’s my ancestral sword, I think I have right to claim it.”

Frowning, he reminded her. “And my right of conquest, it is mine.”

A cold smile graced her lips as she nodded, “Of course. Perhaps instead you should give it back as a concession for the pain caused to my family.”

That old sardonic behaviour returned as he drawled, “And what pain would that be? Arresting your father?”

Smile now deadly, she lowly spoke, “No. For shoving my little brother out a window, and paralysing him.”

His eyes widened and Sansa patiently waited. He hesitated, before fumbling with the sword on his belt, pulling it out, sheath and all. Sansa gladly took it back and once again, curtseys. Never let it be said that she would forget her manners.

She then strode past the man, Cor coming to her side, and did not look back.

“Have I ever told you, that you are terrifying when it comes to conversations?” The awe was gratifying, as she felt very strung out from all the stress of the talks.

Still, she gave him a soft smile and cajoled him, “No, but I would love for you to say it more.”

Grinning back, he nudged her shoulder with his and complied. “That was fantastic. Your tore him down like he was nothing. And did you do the same to the woman?” He looked eager to hear more, but the smile drifted away at how she grew more solemn.

“In a way. It was harder because she plays the game well.”

He rose an eyebrow and mentioned, “I didn’t sense an ounce of hatred in you whilst you talked.”

She nodded and stated frankly, “Because I can’t hate her. Maybe her family, but not her. I pity her.” She admitted. 

“Why?” He wondered out loud, baffled. 

And here she stopped in her tracks, looking over the rolling fields as she softly explained, “Because she was like another mother to me. She taught me, though not in the kindest way, on how to survive the best that I could whilst in Kings Landing. And, I could’ve become her.”

Looking down at her hands she wrung them, confessing to Cor, “I have a very complicated relationship with her, and I know that no one really understands it. But I admire her in some ways, and she is the line that I will not cross. Whenever I think about what I want to do, not only do I think about how you will react, I think about who she would as well.”

Looking up to Cor’s eyes-and since when did he become a little taller than her?-She stated firmly, “I will not excuse all that bad that she has done. But that does not mean that I don’t understand it. Her relationship with her brother is unhealthy, and I think both have begun to realise it. And her marriage to Robert was not the kindest. He was a drunk and was heavy handed. She once said to me, ‘ _love no one but your children’_. She loved Joffrey, and _he_ was a monster.”

He assessed her for a bit before asking, “And would you?”

She shook her head, knowing that she had more love in her heart to give than Cersei ever did. “I would love my children _and_ my husband. I would love my family _and_ my friends. She was alone, and thought that everyone was beneath her, thus making her lonelier. I will _not_ be like her.”

He let out a puff of breath and scratched at his head. He gestured for her to continue on their walk back to the camp, admitting with minor frustration,“I can’t say I understand it all, but I will respect your thoughts on her.”

Taking his hand in hers, she gave him a grateful smile, “Thank you, Cor.”

The next day saw the long negotiations with Ollena and Tywin agreeing to the offer she put forth. It did not last as long as she would expect the real meeting would be, with all the rulers in one place. No, that meeting was to be held in half a years time, when each kingdom had time to heal from the last war. They would gather at the ruins of Kings Landing, a neutral place now, and truly begin the actual negotiations.

But for now, Sansa was successful with her plan. All major lords and ladies were now on board and all that was left was to deal with Daenerys. Tywin was still doubtful on how they would deal with her, but Sansa never spoke on it, knowing that it would give away any upper hand that they had.

They were to travel to the shores of the coast of Kings Landing, where Lord Mandery had a ship awaiting them. And from there, to Dragonstone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I plan to have the next chapter be the last one and then the epilogue will be up. Hopefully that will all be before the end of this week!
> 
> I hope that Tywin’s characterisation was alright, the same with Cersei. I really tried. And with the relationship between the two women, it’s a difficult one. I truly think that Sansa saw Cersei as a mother figure and Sansa as a daughter. That isn’t to say that their relationship was a healthy one, because it most certainly wasn’t.
> 
> In some ways i do pity Cersei, and her and Jamie’s relationship was bad, and not just in the incest way.
> 
> thank you fro reading! Until next time


	42. The end of a queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Sansa go head to head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue taken from the show, but only a little.

On the morning they were to leave the Tyrell-Lannister camp grounds, King Tywin was there to see them off. Sansa thought that was strangely courteous of him until he said, “When you die, Queen Sansa, I do hope for the sake of your people that the next sibling in line will be smarter than you.”

“And I would suggest, King Tywin,” She replied, voice cold and full of warning, “That you remember the first gods. They have reawaken, and the Seven will do you no good when you’ve forgotten to pay the old one’s your respect.”

And with that, she kicked her horse into movement, her group following behind after her. They would reach the shore within a day or two. And on the morning, they will depart on the ship Lord Manderly had prepared for them to Dragonstone, which should hopefully take them just over three days to sail. She would then have the men that were manning to ship to sail away after they’ve reached the island. She wanted to make sure that if Daenerys does decided to attack, she wouldn’t burn the innocent men in an attempt to keep her hostage.

Bran would be keeping an eye out for them, so that he could send a message to the ship, most likely once again anchored by the shoreline, to travel back to pick them up. Sansa wanted no more casualties of her people, and will do everything she must to prevent them.

It turned out to be a fairly short trip, with her timings well predicted. On the third day of sailing, Sansa saw the island and dark castle in the distance, and she knew they would arrive in a few hours. Turning away from the railings, she moved below deck to prepare herself for the arrival.

Upon her friends insistence, she had many more elaborate dresses with her than she would’ve liked. Sara had been working hard in the Vale and sent many to her around the time the battle and Long Night came to an end.

Don't get her wrong, Sansa loved beautiful dresses, it was just very impractical to travel with when they wanted everything done as soon as possible. But still, she couldn’t help the girlish joy in sifting through her dresses to find the best one to make a statement by.

She went for a white gown, made up with tulle and lace. Long, billowing sleeves that cuffed at her wrists. The neck line was a soft v-neck, and the dress hem ended just above her ankles. Underneath, she went for a practical pair of soft grey breeches as well as her brown heeled boots. As they were so close to sea, the wind would normally chill her, but no cold bothered Sansa anymore. That didn’t mean she would wear the cloak that goes with the dress for purely fashion purposes. Grey fur lining, with a white outer fabric, it rested over her shoulders and had slits for her arms to come through.

Sara had also left the dress plain, knowing that Sansa preferred to embroider her own designs on the dress. And Sansa did. The dress and cloak hem had detailed weirwood leaves decorating the bottom in respect for her god. And then she had white and grey snowflakes dotted around the rest of the dress. At the bodice was a forward facing, snarling wolf, with winter blue roses on either side.

All that was left was to set the Winter Crown onto her loose hair.

It was one of her most elaborate dresses yet, and she was immensely pleased by it. And going by Cor’s stunned expression, he thought so too when she swept up the steps to the deck.

A fond smile creeped on her lips as she lightly kissed his cheek. He had his more summer cloak on that she had made. It was off one shoulder, a subtle chain keeping it in place, with a dark fur lining near his neck. It was on the side that his sword wasn’t belted at, and Cor could easily disconnect the cloak if it comes to battle.

Eyes full of love, she gently ran her fingers through his hair and murmured, “You look so handsome, my love.”

His lips twitched and she spotted how his ears began to redden.

With her god’s blessing tucked by her heart, she watched as the castle loomed closer. There was no dock, which the sailors thought was inconvenient, so they had to be lowered on a small boat, with one sailor and Talbert helping to row.

Cor sat at the head, just in front of her, and Sansa could feel his trepidation and wariness continue to grow as they neared the shores. She reached out and grasped his hand tightly in comfort, and he looked back at her out of the corner of his eye briefly before looking straight again. However, he did squeeze her hand, and she sighed silently in relief. She had seen him go quiet a few times like this, and it always made her worry. The pressure on her hand indicated that he was as alright as any of them could be in this situation.

None of them had spotted the dragon yet, and that had them all on edge. No matter how confident Sansa was feeling in both Cor’s skills and Gilgamesh’s- if he has to summon him- she was still fearful of how all this could go wrong. But she wouldn’t let anyone see that, knowing it would make them waver to see her scared.

Reaching the shore, Talbert and the sailor hopped out and began to drag the boat up the rocky beach. Cor ended up jumping out as well, as the weight was a lot with massive wooden boat and five people in it.

When it scratched up the rocks, far enough up that the water was only touching the front by inches, Sansa gracefully stepped out, Cor helping to keep her steady. Once all her people were out, Sansa nodded in thanks to the sailor as he pushed the boat back out and began to row to the ship again.

Turning back forward, they were greeted by a procession of guards, a dark skinned woman, and Tyrion Lannister. Sansa did not make eye contact with the man, instead focusing on the woman and the guards around her.

The ones with the spears and shields were the Unsullied, as the other men with furs and curved blades were most definitely the Dothraaki. The Unsullied faces were covered, but she could spot the darker looks of the other men, and Sansa did not like being surrounded by this many enemies.

And then Tyrion began to speak jovially, “Lady of Winterfell.” And her people shifted behind her at the insult, but Sansa did not react. He was technically correct in that title, and she watched as he continued, “Glad to see you alive and well, Sansa.”

No smile graced her face but she did nod politely, “And to you, Lord Tyrion.”

The small man seemed to have notice a misstep but not what, so he turned to introduce himself to Cor, who was standing by her right side. “Tyrion Lannister.” And he held out his hand for her Shield to shake.

The anger from Cor surged for a second, but it went unnoticed by everyone else as he stepped forward and shook the man’s hand briefly. “Cor Leonis.”

“Not familiar with the name.” Tyrion remarked, probing for information.

Cor took his hand back and replied dryly, “You wouldn’t be.”

The man, sensing he touched another nerve, quickly introduced the dark skinned woman next to him. “And this is Missandae, the Queen’s trusted advisor.”

She smiled in thanks to Tyrion before she spoke, voice soft and accented. “Welcome to Dragonstone. Our Queen knows it is a long journey and appreciates the effortmade on her behalf.” She then paused and smiled politely, “If you wouldn’t mind handing over your weapons.”

Sansa rose an eyebrow, and asked, “Do you mean to take us hostage then?”

The woman seemed taken aback with the question, so Sansa continued, wondering out loud with curiosity, “We are here as guests, are we not? To ask for our weapons is to ask us to come willingly as hostages. And we will not come willingly if that is the case.” Her smile, though still polite, was sharp.

Tyrion quickly amended the insult by saying, “Of course you are here as guests, my lady. You may keep your weapons.”

Missandae, frown of displeasure on her face, gestured for them to follow her. “Please. This way.”

The guards converged and surrounded their group, cutting off the back end for any possible escape. Sansa did not like this subtle tell of threat lingering over their heads, but still maintained an easy pace as they marched up the steps.

It was a long walk there, and at one point Tyrion turned back to her and asked, “Did you miss me terribly?”

“I’ve been a bit busy to miss many people, my lord.” She commented.

A smile quirked on his lips and he insisted, “You must tell me how you recapture your home at a later date.”

She gave small nod in agreement, and then turned to the advisor who was listening to the conversation. “May I ask where you were born, my lady?”

She blankly looked back, but answered none-the-less. “Naath, lady Sansa.”

Pondering over the name, she remembered that is was. It was very south of Essos and east of the Summer Islands. A little amazed, Sansa asked, “Quite far from home. What was it like, if I may ask?” 

The woman had a fond smile over her lips and gave a short answer. “Warm. Beautiful.”

Sansa figured the woman wouldn’t want to give too many details to a stranger, so instead Sansa commented, “I could say the same about my home, though warm wouldn’t be how you would describe the lands.” Missandae nodded and opened her mouth to speak.

And then a screech rang over their heads, a massive gust of wind blowing past them, and Sansa felt Cor grab her and pulled her into his chest. His other hand was on his sword, ready to draw and fight as the dragon flew above them. When the threat passed, they disentangled themselves and Sansa took a quick look over at her people, her heart thumping with terror.

All had their weapons either draw or ready to draw, bodies tense and ready to fight. She heard Luka mutter to Talbert, “ _Sounded like the fucking undead to me._ ” And the other nodded back in agreement, frustration on his face. 

She sent another discrete glance at the other men, and noticed that many were smirking in amusement at their reaction, and she inwardly fumed at the expressions. ‘ _As if they didn’t react the exact same way.’_

Cor’s anger was now at a low boil as they continued forward, and Sansa wondered when it would finally over flow.

“You never really get used to it.” Tyrion remarked amused as well, staring at the dragon’s retreating form. “Come, his mother awaits you.”

After being showed to their chambers, Sansa entered the throne room with her six guards at her back. It was a darkly lit room, and there towards the back on a stone throne, was the Dragon Queen herself. Sansa could admit that she was a beautiful woman, and beauty goes a long way when gathering followers.

Missandae and Tyrion take their places near Daenerys, as the advisor begins to list out all the titles. “You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First men. Protect of the Seven Kingdoms. The Mother of Dragons. The Khaleesi of the Great Grass sea. The Unburnt. The Breaker of Chains.” Sansa felt exhausted just listening to them all.

There is a second of a pause after the woman finished, before Cor announced Sansa, “I present Sansa of House Stark. Queen of the North and the First men. Lady of Winterfell and Protector of the North. Lady Bolton of the Dreadfort. The Queen of Winter. The Herald of Spring.” That last bit tacked on was only truly recent in titles, and it was something the people had whispered when spring suddenly arrived, and many spotted her still injured fingers. The secret of her magic was becoming somewhat well known. 

The young woman on the throne gave a courteous smile, “Thank you for coming as soon as you could, my lady. I hope your people are well.”

And then Cor stepped in, Sansa hiding her startlement, and said, “Forgive me, your grace. But Sansa Stark is Queen in the North.” It seemed that the insults given to her station had finally got to him.

“Forgive me-“ Daenerys began, looking at Tyrion.

“Cor Leonis.” The small man informed her.

She continued. “Ser Leonis. I never had a formal education. But I could’ve sworn that the last ruler of the North, was Tohrren Stark. Who bent the knee to my ancestor, Aegon Targaryen in exchange for his life, and the lives of the Northmen. Torrhen Stark swore fealty to house Targaryen and an oath is an oath-“

Sansa cut her off, her slowly growing amused expression freezing as Sansa added, “And then Aerys Targaryen broke that oath by burning my grandfather and uncle under guest rights.”

The woman’s smile was now gone. And Sansa finally gave a small one back. “I know my history, your grace. I also know, that by Right of Conquest, you have no claim to the Iron Throne.”

There was tension lining her shoulders as she argued back, “Robert Baratheon was the Usurper-“

Sansa’s eyebrow flew up, unimpressed, as she once again interrupted the Dragon queen. “You must be unfamiliar with the laws and culture here, though I was sure that the Dothraki used Right of Conquest as well when it came to land and slaves. We take Right of Conquest quite seriously here. And when Robert Baratheon took the thrown, the Targaryen Dynasty came to an end.”

The silence was tense and hostility had begun to rise. Daenerys broke the silence, gritting out, “So I _assume_ you have not come to bend the knee?”

Smiling like Daenerys was a student who got an answer correct, Sansa replied, “Of course not, your grace. Even if you were a Queen from a different lineage, I would still not be handing over the North. And furthermore, the Iron Throne no longer exists, with how you burnt it, the city, and it’s people to the ground.”

Daenerys’ hands clenched on her lap, as she defended her actions, “That was necessary.”

And Sansa could feel her anger roiling in her gut at that admission. She coldly asked, “Was it? Well, I’m sure as Queen, you will make negotiations quite difficult if your only solution is to burn innocent people. It reminds me of someone.” Sansa subtly jabbed.

Her pale face froze and Daenerys softly, sharply, said, “I am _not_ my father.”

Sansa nodded, conceding, and replied, “No. You are much prettier, I will admit. But to the people of Westeros, you are no different, and no one wants the Targaryen rule to come back. And I believe, they never wanted it in the first place.”

Her voice rose a level as she snapped at Sansa, “If you are only here to give me a history lesson, then I’m afraid you can not stay here as my guests.”

Her guards shifted where they stood, taking in the threat that was given and preparing themselves for a possible attack. Sansa however did not move, nor react beyond pointing out, “Were we to be your guests anyways, with how you were to take our weapons? And the fact you haven’t offered us bread and salt in a welcoming gesture, I never thought we were under Guest Rights to begin with.”

She spied Tyrion out of the corner of her faltered at her words and she thought with satisfaction ,’ _Good. Look how the smartest man in Westeros had failed at his job_.’

Continuing, Sansa took a step forward, ignoring how the Unsullied shifted at her approach, spears coming down to point at her. “You see, Queen Daenerys,” Sansa started again, “You do not even know what the traditions are of this land, yet you claim to be it’s rightful ruler. And you’ve said it yourself, you never had a formal education, which all nobles need. This, is _not_ your home.” It was harsh and cold to say, but it needed to be spoken.

The silence was dense, and Sansa could see the other woman’s anger building with every tense muscle.

Slowly, the woman then rose from her throne and began to stalk down the steps. Her voice began casual. “I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it, we fled before Robert’s assassins could find us. Robert, was your father’s best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew that his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib. Not that it matter now of course. I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me, I don’t remember their names.” She was now on level ground with Sansa and continued to stalk forward, her casual tone turning darker, more furious as she spoke. “I have been sold, like a broodmare. I have been chained and betrayed. Raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile? _Faith_. Not in any gods. Not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The worlds hasn’t seen a dragon in centuries until my dragons were born. The Dothraaki hadn’t crossed the sea. Any sea. They did for me. I was born to rule the seven kingdoms. _And I will.”_

Sansa was impressed by the power behind Daenerys’ words. Besides her beauty, it seemed that she did have a way with words, and that must do well to win people over. A part of Sansa was also sympathising with the pain she had gone through as a child, but that did not make her any less guilty of the chaos and pain she had caused across Essos.

Taking one step closer, they were two feet away from one another, and Sansa noticed that she was taller. Her smile turned sharp as she spoke, “That was a very powerful speech, your grace. But do you think that the pain you have gone through makes you special? Makes you _worthy_?” She questioned rhetorically. Her own smile then dropped and her voice became low and cold, matching against the fire in Daenerys eyes. “Why, if we are comparing lives, I have been imprisoned by those I trusted, betrayed and beaten. I’ve watched my father’s execution and was forced to look at his head on a pike. I was eleven, and I was stripped in the middle of court and had the crownsguard beat me with their sword whilst the king watched on. The king, who I was to marry.” She then glanced over at Tyrion and then back to Daenerys, informing the woman, “I was forced to marry Tyrion Lannister, your Hand, an enemy of my family and a man who molested me on the marriage bed before he decided that he should stop. Because unlike the whores he fucked, I would not pretend to enjoy it.” The woman looked to have faltered just minuscule from her previous self-righteous stance.

Sansa’s tone cut sharp through the hall as she articulated with furious venom, “I have _bled_ for my Kingdom. I have fought and won my Kingdom back. I am sorry for the life you have lived, because Robert should never have done that. And I do not forgive my father for his mistakes because he put me in the line of fire as well.” Sansa admitted. _But_ ,” She then declared firmly,

“ _You were not_ born to rule this land, Daenerys Targaryen. You could not even rule the cities you conquered, only leaving destruction and dissent in you wake. And I will _never_ bend the knee to _you_ , nor will _anyone_ in this world.”

The fury in the woman’s eyes was gratifying and Sansa announced for the room but mainly for her, 

“The Seven Kingdoms are separating, back to their individual rule as they were for 8,000 years before the Targaryens 200 years of ruling. Your family, will just be a side note in Westeros’s history.”

And then Sansa turned her back on the other girl and strode out of the room, her guards following along behind her. No one stopped them as they left, Sansa winding her ways through the corridors before finding their bed chambers. As soon as the door close around them, Ellina whooped, startling everyone out of their tension. “That was _fantastic_ , Sansa! Gods did you see her face?” She turned to exclaim at the others who began to grin back. Whilst they were revelling on the verbal smackdown Sansa had given the woman, she sidled over to Cor and spotted how curled tight his hands were.

Sansa gently took one of his fists and began to uncurl it, easing her hand into his. His rage was still at a simmer, and Sansa was glad for that. But he seemed to be glaring in space, mind still on the meeting, so she used her other hand to softly turn his face to her.

Giving him a reassuring smile, she watched as Cor’s shoulders became less rigid, and the frown softened. He then leant forward and bumped his head to her’s. They were both very stressed at the moment, and it was only the afternoon.

Sansa decided to take a quick nap, and Cor left her in the company of the rest of their friends and decided to take a walk. He wanted to get the layout of the Island as best as he could, as he didn’t have a magical castle stuffing a map conveniently into his head.

He was somewhere on the east side, standing on an open courtyard. There were stairs leading down to a lower balcony area, and all of this over looked the large sea. Cor walked down the stairs and peered down the edge of the balcony, eyes searching. He had spotted the dragon land near here earlier, and sure enough, the beast was on the grass cliff below him. It seemed to be resting at the moment, so Cor took the time to observe the creature.

It really was a magnificent reptile, there was no doubting that. But a threat was a threat, so Cor took stock of it’s body, seeing all the injures and scars that marred it’s scales.

Footsteps behind him had Cor turning around sharply, wind blowing at his hair. It’s gotten a little longer again, and he needed to get it cut.

Daenerys was approaching him, and she seemed to have no guards with her, which he thought was a failing on their part. But then again, her dragon was right below them, so she must figure herself to be safe.

She stepped up by his side and also peered down at the beast. A fond smile played across her face as she spoke, “Beautiful, isn’t he.” The righteous fury from before seemed to have disappeared.

Cor shrugged and offered, “I suppose.”

She rose an eyebrow, turning to him, “You suppose?”

He looked at her from the corner of his eye and elaborated, “Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that. What you see as beautiful, I see as deadly. But yes, he is magnificent to look at I guess.” He then admitted. He doesn’t like her, but insulting what she classed as ‘ _her child_ ’ would still be a dick move.

“You act like you’ve seen better.” She pointed out, her voice a mixture of annoyance and interest.

Scratching at his head, he replied, “Well, I’ve never seen a dragon before, I will admit. And he isn’t technically a dragon.” Cor tacked on at the end, looking back at the beast with an assessing gaze.

Her face became thunderous, “ _Excuse me?_ ” Daenerys was obviously not happy with that observation.

However, Cor wasn’t affected by her anger, and just causally began to explain, “Well, there are three types of ‘dragons’, I guess you could say. All falling under the category of large, reptilian, and can breath fire. Yours is actually a Wyvern. A dragon would be arms and legs, and then wings. Your creature is back legs and front legs that are also it’s wings. But eh, semantics. Who really argues over this when it’s attacking you.”

She gave him a critical eye, but seemed less upset. Maybe impressed? By his knowledge. “I see. You are familiar with mythical creatures then.”

Cor snorted and dryly remarked, “Well, fought two giants, and one of the other guards is from a land with unicorns.” And fought a lot of daemons, but that’s of no importance here.

Her eyebrows flew up, curious and impressed, asking him. “And where are you from?”

He answered, “West of Westeros.” Eyeing at the way she slowly shifted closer to him, a soft and interested smile on her beautiful face.

“Did not know there was anything past Westeros.”

He hummed in reply, folding his arms casually against his chest and looked back out to the sea dismissively. “The world is bigger than you know.”

There was a moment of silence, before Daenerys asked, “How did you come to be in your queen’s services?”

The woman sounded genuinely inquisitive, but Cor still felt suspicious of her asking the question. Hell, he felt on edge with how she seemed that have searched him out to talk, though maybe it was a coincidence. However, he decided to answer anyways, “She saved my life a couple of times. I’ve saved her’s. She was taking back her home, and I decided it would be fun to join. I’ve been by her side for over a year, and will stay there until my last breath.”

Her eyes widened, purple irises move obvious in her stunned expression. “Why do you give your loyalty to her?” She asked, and was that _envy_ , Cor detected in her words?

He then thought about the interaction more, and figured there was a possibility that perhaps she wanted to see how loyal he was to Sansa. ‘ _Maybe she thinks she could win me to her side._ ’ It’s a possibility, more than likely happened in the past with other men and it _was_ a good tactic.

However, she thought wrong.

Cor turned around to face her head on and he spoke with absolute confidence. “She gave me a purpose when I lost mine. And after I found my footing in life, she then gave me her love. And I in return. I protect her back, and she promises to never make me do anything that would go against my will or morals. You see, people are more complicated than blind loyalty, and Sansa trusts me to always be honest about her ruling and decisions, taking my word into account. She is my queen, but we are _equals_. I am loyal to her because I _love_ her and she loves me back.”

He then cocked his head to the side, and asked, curious, “Can you say the same about _your_ followers? They love you, but tell me, do you _actually_ love them back, or do you love the attention and revere that they shower upon you?”

Stunned disbelief was clearly written across her face, and her mouth was slightly open, speechless. He took a step back from the balcony, showing that this conversation was coming to a close.

He looked dead in her eyes, voice going low and firm, “If you are trying to sway my loyalty, or anyone else here with her for that matter, you should know that _nothing_ , no god or man. No beast or otherwise, could _ever_ sway me from her side. And you, a self-declared queen who burns _innocents_ to gain power, is not someone I would _willingly_ follow into hell. For Sansa, I would in a _heart beat._ ”

With that declaration, Cor twisted around and strode back the way he came, pleased with himself.

When Sansa awoke from her nap, Cor was sat up next to her reclined body, rough fingers softly running through her hair. She snuggled into his side, flopping her arm over his lap to hold him closer. She felt more than heard his laughter, and smiled sleepily.

That evening they stayed in the large room given to them, and ate the rations they brought with. Sansa doesn’t think Daenerys would actually poison her, but better safe than sorry. They sat on the floor, sharing the food, and chatting, and it was better than some tense, formal meal with an enemy.

Cor talked about the dragon he saw, about all the injures it has. “So stabbing it won’t do too much, as it has scars on it’s neck and back. I’m thinking, chop off the wings or something to keep it on the ground. Only problem is the fire.”

They tossed ideas back and forth, not truly coming up with an actual plan. The best they’ve got is a surprise attack, distracting the dragon from one side and slaying it from the other. The next morning, Sansa had been called to meet with Daenerys, this time in her war room.

Sansa had her full set of guards with her, though they were to wait outside, even Cor. So it was just the two queens in the room, staring one another down. They did not part on the best of terms yesterday, and Cor told her about having a talk with the woman, so Daenerys was most likely still upset with them both.

Sansa decided to start the talk. “I mentioned yesterday that the Seven Kingdoms are splitting back up. They will be having their own monarchy, as before Aegon conquered the land.”

The woman scoffed, irritated, “And what are you suggesting I should do? It’s my destiny to rule on the Iron Throne.” She drew herself up, and Sansa held back the urge to roll her eyes at the arrogance.

Waving her hand dismissively, Sansa slowly circled around the table, hands coming to rest loosely behind her back. “Destiny is nonsense most of the time. Very rarely do the gods even bother to interact with us humans.”

Her pale hands clenched, and she snidely asked, “And _you_ are the expert on gods?”

Sansa met her anger calmly, “No, but I have the favour of one.” The other stared in doubt, but that didn’t matter to Sansa. Looking over the table map, Sansa explained, “The Old Gods are awake and alive in Westeros, and they do not want the Targaryens back. It’s _because_ of the Targaryens that they began to fade, people no longer believing in them with the religion that your ancestors brought over. They were invaders, forcing their own life style on people who did not want it.”

Looking back up from the table, Sansa sympathises with the displeased woman, “I can see that it’s difficult for you to understand, as you have been told since you were a child that your blood belonged on the throne. And maybe it does. But your throne is not here.”

Daenerys’ voice trembled with rage as she hissed out, “And who are you to tell me this, a mere child.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes, giving the other a once over. “And how old are you? Fourteen, fifteen?” She guessed and watched the way she held herself up with self-inflated pride.

“Fifteen.”

Sansa huffed a mocking laugh. “Well, you can’t call me no more than a child unless you are willing to say the same about yourself.”

The pale face did not look good with the red anger that began to rise as Sansa asserted, “We are young queens, but there is a difference between your accession and mine.”

“And what is that?” It was like the room was battling with the fiery rage of Daenerys and Sansa ice cold voice.

As firm as in the throne room, Sansa answered, “I did not have no destiny, no priestess, no _brother_ , _no followers_ telling me that I should sit on the Northern Throne. In fact, my brother passed my blood right by to name our bastard brother the heir to the throne instead. I did not _dream_ of being a queen, nor did I _demand_ it as my right. I saw that Northern Independence was the best solution for my people and I fought for it. I got that throne _not_ because it was some predetermined fate but because it was _my duty_ to _my people._ ”

Glaring, Sansa finished with a growl, “Your people are _slavers_ and _rapists_. Your people are _child born slaves_ and _soldiers_. _You have no people, Daenerys._ ”

Purple eyes wild with rage, the other spat out in indignant disbelief, “So you expect me to take my ships and turn around back to Essos?”

Cooly, Sansa responded, “I don’t expect _anything_ but you leaving these shores and never coming back. You may go back to Slaver’s bay, and continue to try to rule over people who do not want you. You could go back to the Dothraaki way, is that it what you want. You could go and live a simple life- _it does not matter to me_. As long as you _never_ return here.”

“You can not control me,” She declared, “I have dragons.”

Sansa rose an eyebrow, unimpressed, and pointed out, “ _A_ dragon. And even then, my land has shown you that even dragons can die. You are not infallible.”

“I have an entire army and you have six guards. You won’t be able to leave here alive.” She vowed and Sansa felt her body still.

Staring directly at the woman, her motionless body unsettling with the pleasant voice that asked, “Is that a threat, Daenerys?”

Daenerys glared and drew herself to her full height. “ _Yes_.”

Humming, Sansa established, “I see. So we are no longer under your hospitality.”

The other girl gave a stiff nod, and the madness was blazing bright in her eyes. Sansa took the moment to pity how life had treated her, but she dashed it away when she reached out through the bond between her and Cor. It was a subtle tug, but enough to let him know what was happening.

Within seconds, both females heard the sound of fighting, and scrapes of swords and weapons meeting flesh. Then the door flew open, with Daenerys stumbling back in fright, and Cor stood in the doorway, assessing the room and occupants.

“Report.” Sansa orders. Cor met her gaze and her command bid him to answer swiftly. “Seven Dothraki dead that were stationed outside the door with us. Most likely more on their way if they heard the fighting.”

Sansa nodded in understanding and began to sweep out of the room, before Daenerys yelled, “ _You will not escape here alive!_ ”

The red head stilled in her tracks and looked over her shoulder. “I think you will find that _we will_ , actually.” Sansa declared, and then continued on her path. Cor took point, with the other five circling her. Sansa took a quick second to tug out her dagger, wanting to be armed just in case.

They passed through the halls, her guards cutting down anyone who tried to attack them. Cor took care of most of the main attackers, as he was up front. But the ones that filtered through were cut down with Luka and Talbert teaming up or the She-wolves doing the same.

Mya slammed her war hammer hard into a Dothraki’s face, the bone underneath crunching at the impact, and Sansa thought that they would have to leave their things here, and when the battle was over, collect them. Sansa hoped that Bran had seen into the future enough to know when to send the ship back to them.

Her and her brother had talked about him possibly warging into the dragons around the time she got the first letter from Daenerys. He said that he would have to practise, as controlling such a large creature would be taxing. With those thoughts in mind, Sansa kept and eye and ear out for the last dragon, hoping that Bran would be able to control it if they were about to be killed.

They reached the open courtyard that led to the long and winding walkway to the beach when the screech of the dragon echoed over head. All them jerked their heads up, and saw that on the back of the black and red dragon, was the small figure of Daenerys.

Wide-eyed the seven of them stared in horror as the dragon opened it’s mouth and the bright hot orange flames came rushing towards them. She felt more than saw Cor shove his way to the front of them and watched as he drew Gilgamesh’s sword from his back, and then Sansa ducked down as if to protect herself from being burnt.

But when no pain arrived, and she peeked upwards, still hearing the roar of the dragons fire, Sansa stared in stunned awe.

The fire had met the blade, and the sword seemed to be cutting through it, parting it onto either side of their group, leaving them uninjured. Cor’s back was to them and he stood unwavering, fearless, in the face of incineration. When the blazing fire let up, faint flames licking up the metal of the sword before dispersing into smoke, they all looked up to the dragon, which seemed confused on why they weren’t burnt to a crisp.

Lyn took this as an opening, because she drew her bow back and fired an arrow directly at the dragons face. It let out a screech of pain as the arrow embedded itself into the creatures eye, causing it the jerk and flap away from them.

By that time, more men came out, and then the battle had commenced. Her people fought well, but there were still too many. Cor did well, cutting many down faster than anyone else could see, taking many an enemy by surprise. The other’s fared well, but her She-wolves were struggling as they didn’t have as much of training to be able to combat against the onslaught of this many enemies who had years of training. She could spot Ellina faltering, and Mya had to cover an opening with a swing of her hammer.

They couldn’t keep this up, they knew that, but it’s all they had until Bran could manage to take control of the dragon. A Dothraki then broke through the circle During her frantic musings, and Sansa had to duck from the swing of his blade, and panicking, she jabbed her blade deep into his upper inner thigh. He let out a cry of pain and came back furious, but the injury was enough time for Talbert to chop off his head with his axe. The man nodded to her, before leaping back into the fray.

It took awhile then, for them to notice the billows of smoke, rising from the sea. Her people backed up and formed a tighter circle in the enemies confusion, as they all watched the dragon fly around, burning all the ships and many of the armies that were camped outside the castle or in large groups.

Sansa saw the way her group slumped in relief at the sight of what was obviously Bran warging into the dragon. The army though was panicking, confused and terrified at what was supposed to be an ally, betraying them. In the panic, none of them noticed the arrow that came flying toward their group and-

Sansa stumbled at the sudden hit, gasping, looked down at the arrow that pierced into her chest, and the world began to tilt. It took her a second to realise that she fell into someone’s arms as pain erupted through her. Sound became muffled as all she heard was the rush of her blood, and her body screaming in pain. Spots began to fill her vision, blurry movements before her was all that she saw.

Cor felt red sweep over him, pure wrath and absolute fear up his chest and head, at the sight of Sansa falling back in pain. He was frozen, _stunned_ , as Mya caught His Queen. His friend. _His_. Fury over took him as he turned slowly to the army that began to close in at the sign of weakness.

But they were wrong. _Dead wrong._

Because now, he was very and truly _seething_ with rage.

Instincts took hold and bodies became blurs, each one cut down as he twisted and swung his way through the hoard. He slashed and stabbed, rage never abating as it fuelled his movements. At one point he must’ve summoned another blade because he began to dual-wielded in his path of vengeance, blood splattering across his face and on his clothes.

The anger just continued to bubble and fester, self-hatred at how he somehow missed the arrow breeching their guard. All the anger that had built over the past days, had finally burst. He couldn’t even pause to think about how she must be dying without him by her side. _But it didn’t matter_. He would be dead as soon as he took every last soldier’s life, even if he felt their bond wither and die. He would push pass the magic that would start to seep his life from his body, not relenting until all the enemies were gone.

_Then_. He would collapse by her side.

And then his eye caught onto the dragon that was flying towards them, and the inferno in his blood leapt. _And so did he._

He took a running leap off the battlements towards the dragon that flew in his direction, air rushing past his ears, as a battle cry left his lips. The dragon opened it’s mouch, ready for him to fall in, but Cor jumped too high for it. As his body started to drop, he crashed onto the beast and brought both blades down, sinking them into the dragon’s head. Cor made eye contact with the horrified Daenerys as thick liquid splattered up his arms, and the painful cry of the beast nearly deafened him as it started to falter in the air. And then it began to crash down to the ground, spinning wildly.

His stomach dropped as they began to rapidly fall from the air and before the impact, he extracted the blades and dove to the side, his body landing soaring through the sky and hitting the hard ground quickly, rolling with the fall. When the motions stopped, he registered that his body ached and Cor couldn’t hold back the groan that left his lips as he stood up.

Looking around through squinted eyes, screwed up from pain and dizziness, Cor spotted the black reptile laid in a crumpled heap on the ground, a trail of mud and dirt lay behind it where the body crashed and skidded. Taking a step closer, he then noticed Daenerys stumble and fall by the beasts head, seeming to weep over the creatures death.

Anger still boiling, he took predatory steps as he stalked to her, blades still gleaming with fresh blood. The fear in her wide eyes as he stood over her knelt body was darkly satisfying, and the feral grin finally creeped up his features.

And then he staggered. Dropping a blade, the bloody hand came up to grasp the centre of his chest, as it clenched. The bond tugged and _flared_ , and Cor’s head swung upwards to the battlements, instinctually pulled to where Sansa stood.

_Alive_.

He takes a second to take her in. There was a large red spot on her dress where the arrow had hit, but other than that, _she was alive._

Sucking in a deep breath, he looked back down to the weeping and fearful girl, and slid the Genji blade back into its sheath. Reaching down, he then picked up the other sword he had summoned, Chiyo, and disappeared that into the Armiger.

The glare was still in full force, as he lowly whispered to the girl. “Because _she_ is not dead, _you_ won’t be.”

And then he heard the whisper of wind whistle past his ears, and a sentence appeared in his mind. There was a subtle, nudging urge to speak it, so Cor opened his mouth and commanded the fallen self-declared queen:

“ _The house with the red door still stands. A home can be found there for you._ ”

The urge then disappeared just as suddenly as it came. He figured that it was perhaps the god Sansa had spoken about, the one that seemed to talk with nature as it’s voice. With one last glance at the girl, who was stunned with disbelief and possible hope, he took a running jump and caught his hands on the edge of the battlement. Pulling himself over, he landed with a dull thumb and caught sight of his queen Surrounded by their people.

Stalking steps, he reached her side, their friends dodging out of the way so that he could hold her to him as tight and close as physically possible. Body shaking from the adrenaline and relief, he had the mantra singing in his head, ‘ _She’s alive. She’s alive_.’ And the rage began to lighten and abate, back into the dark depths of his mind. He laid a firm and lingering kiss on her forehead before looking at her.

“ _How?_ ” He croaked, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes. Though it could be from all the smoke as well.

She drew back from his arms, having to pause when his gripped tensed, not wanting to let go, before withdrawing altogether. She stuck her hand into the neckline of her dress, and pulled out a piece of crumbled leaf. It gleamed red with blood and sap.

Cor’s eyes widened in realisation as she spoke his suspicions. “The god’s favour healed me when the arrow was taken out. The blood is a mixture of mine and sap.”

The groan he released at her reassurance had her laughing a bit, slightly hysterical from all the action. He slumped over, the fight having took a lot of magic and energy out of him, and laid his head on her’s. “Can we go home now?” He whined, muffled in her shoulder. Their friends laughed, and he felt the way more bodies joined in on the embrace. He was able to fully relax now with the knowledge that things would be over for now.

Her fingers ran soothingly through his hair and Sansa hummed softly, “Yes Cor. We can go home now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Did I scare you with a possible death of Sansa? 😉 I would never do that to you, but it was fun to write!
> 
> So, didn’t kill dany, because that was never the plan to begin with, but her army is now destroyed and there is a possibility of her returning To the one place that felt like home for her. I don’t like her, but even i admit that the show did her dirty. 
> 
> Cor went on a rampage, which I thought he deserved the right. And he didn’t speak to tyrion, but that’s because it’s a missing scene I’m going to write. Send me any scenes you would’ve liked to seen through out the story! 
> 
> All that’s left is the epilogue, which will hopefully be up by saturday or sunday
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	43. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpts from the historical account of Queen Sansa of House Stark, the Winter Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read notes!

Excerpts from The History of the First Queen of Winter:

Queen Sansa of House Stark was born 285AL in Winterfell, and most of her childhood was spent in youthful innocence. The first daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, she was proclaimed to be a lady at three, excelling in the womanly arts of the time, which would be sewing, singing, music, and dance. In the journal of the Queen, she had written that though her childhood was kind, she felt very much alone. Whilst her siblings enjoyed more active based play, she didn’t.

In 298AC The King of the Seven Kingdoms, Robert Baratheon, came to Winterfell with his family, wanting Lord Eddard Stark to be his Hand, after the previous Hand, Lord Jon Arryn, died of poisoning. The Lord Stark accepted along with the betrothal between Sansa Stark and Crown Prince Joffrey Baratheon.

Much of the recorded history of Queen Sansa was made through her own private journals and the Maester records after she ascended the Northern Throne. In her journals, written later in life than the events described, she wrote of her duty to her betrothal, and how excited she was to go South, as it was a dream she always wanted.

The death of her dire-wolf, Lady, was the start of her spiralling into grief, feeling betrayal from her father, who was the one to execute the wolf, and confusion over the dismissive anger shown by her betrothed. The events that took place to cause such reactions was only written that, ‘Arya’s wolf defended her from Joffrey. She barely caused a scratch, but he wanted revenge and so did his mother.’ She felt dismissed by her family and sought favour with Queen Cersei, her future mother-in-law, who by accounts was manipulative woman, and thus Sansa never saw the true woman until it was too late. 

The events that lead to the death of Lord Stark were also only written through her journals and only a small note made by Grand Maester Pycelle. The maester wrote that the Lord showed treasonous actions and was beheaded for them. Queen Sansa had written a much more in-depth description of the event.

An excerpt from her entry, written in 303AC:

_I went to Cersei when father told me to pack up and leave, and I was confused on why and felt bitter over him destroying something that was to be mine. I was taught that duty to my husband and his family was to be my future, and he was ripping it away from me, like he did with Lady. At the time I did not know why he was being accused of treason, all that I knew was to try and plead for mercy upon him. Though, now I know that he wasn’t the best parent, he was still my father, and I loved him. I got on my knees and begged Joffrey for mercy and he said he would. And then on the day of his execution, my father declared Joffrey and his siblings legitimate. And then Joffrey said, ‘Bring me his head.’ And he called that mercy._

_It was only later I learnt that my father was searching for how Jon Arryn had died, and learnt that it was because he found out that all the King’s children were illegitimate, products of incest betweenCersei and her twin, Jamie. In his search, father put another person’s children before his own, not knowing of the danger and being too honest in a place that does not respect honesty._

_I blamed myself for his death for a long time, feeling that if I tried harder, if maybe I wrote more letters to Robb, maybe he would have lived._

In the three years she was hostage at Kings Landing, she was subjected to much abuse at the hands of the Crownsguard. By orders of King Joffrey, he would watch on the Iron Throne as she was stripped and beaten with his guard’s swords.

It was late 300AC that she was wed to Lord Tyrion Lannister, a man known for his proclivities for sex workers and drinking. Though an intelligent man, he was a bitter one, anointing his bad treatment for his dwarfism. At just turned fourteen, Sansa was a terrified child, but could only do what her captors told her to so.

In an entry she had written:

_I remember when my sister and I were at odds with one another when she returned home. We never understood one another, too different but too similar as well. She accused me of loving the Lannisters more than our own family, and it was hard to tell her that in some ways, that they were better to me. Even after father had died, I knew where I stood with them, whereas with my true family, I didn’t. I always felt like an outsider, never good enough to fit with them. They all had wolfs blood, or if Bran dreamt of being a southern knight, he was praised for such dreams. But when I said what everyone expected of me, that I wanted to be queen, that I wanted to be married. I was brushed off and scoffed at._

_I just wanted my family to love and accept me for who I was. That was my dream in life. Everything else was just my duty as the first highborn daughter of the family._

_With the Lannisters, I repeated what they told me. If I had traitors blood, then I had traitors blood. If I was a stupid girl, then I was a stupid girl. The Hound had mocked me for it, called me ‘Little Bird’ and at the time, I thought it was a sweet name. Better than the ‘Little Dove’ that Cersei called me._

_When the night of the marriage with Tyrion began, he was drunk and touched me as I expected the marriage bed to go. I laid there, waiting for it to be over, as he ran his hands over me. But in the end, he had stopped. At first, I was grateful that he did, thinking him much kinder than the other men in my life._

_But like most things, Cor would put them into perspective. Tyrion only stopped because I wouldn’t fake it like his whores would._

The journal of Queen Sansa is a historical account of the intensity of her life, through her own eyes. Many psychologists analysed her behaviour and thoughts, putting names to her reactions and emotions. C-PTSD, anxiety, inferiority complex. But to historians, it showed an insight into life at that time for noble women. Queen Sansa would not have been the first case of a highborn lady experiencing abuse at the hands of her family, or husbands family. Queen Sansa had become, during the time and even still today, a symbol of strength and survival.

Maester Wolkan of Winterfell, a written account of Queen Sansa:

_When the Queen took back her home from the Boltons, I feared for my life, thinking I would be executed with my lord of the time, Lord Roose Bolton. However, this child, who showed much strength at such a young age, had given me mercy in exchange for loyalty. I was happy to comply, hoping if I bowed to her whims, I would see the next sunrise._

_But, loyalty with her came easy. It was obvious in many of her people, how much they loved her. She was kind and fair, and always polite and well spoken, even to her enemies. It was also thrilling to see such open displays of love between her friends and guards, how much of a child she really was, and how unafraid and informal she was with her people. She did not demand respect or devotion. She earned it._

_But her age never got in the way of her ruling, though many doubted her ability, she truly ushered the North and subsequently Westeros, into an Age of Enlightenment._

There are many debates on where exactly Commander Cor Leonis originated from. Many recounts say he was ‘ _From the West_ ’, which could mean from the Westerlands, or even west of Westeros, where Eos is. Many historians are of the side of Eos being his birth place, with his name having roots of the ancient Luci language. But it was never told on how he got to Westeros, and even hand written accounts say that all he would answer to that question, would be with the word, ‘ _Magic_ ’.

Looking at the history and how even now, magic of the North is a very populace ability, many are inclined to believe him.

Birth Records of Queen Sansa and Commander Leonis’ Children, recorded by Maester Wolkan and then his successor Healer Lydia:

_At nineteen, just a year after their marriage, the year 306AC, the birth of the crown princess and second Queen of Winter arrived._

_Suha Stark was named after the very first Stark girl, the younger sister of Bran the Builder. No records showed that the ancestor existed, with only Queen Sansa’s journal describing the castle being alive with her spirit, and how her body laid preserved in the Hot Springs under the castle itself. Archaeologists, have found the body, but whether she was actually Suha, or not, was never truly confirmed. Sansa had written that she wanted the first Stark daughter to be remembered for the sacrifice she made in the effort to save the North._

_Queen Suha took on her mother’s title, though commonly it would be the first born male, like many laws, Queen Sansa had changed it to be the first born child. Like her mother, Suha ruled with mercy and justice, never faltering in the face of adversity. She carried on with her mother’s task of bring the Northern Kingdom into an age of knowledge and technological refinement and awakening._

_She took on her mother’s hair, though her eyes were recorded to be of a brown colour._

_Two years after the birth of Suha, came the twins, year 308AC_

_Prince Regulus and Gillian Stark where the twin boys of Sansa and Cor. Regulus was named after the star at the heart of the constellation, Leonis. It would mean, little prince or lion heart, a nod to their father’s name. Gillian was named after the god that Cor worshiped and befriended, Gilgamesh. This furthers the proof that Cor was from Eos, as there were records of a god being worshiped there._

_The boys would go on to be the Twin Commanders of the Northern army, taking Cor’s place when he stepped down from active duty at the age of 47. Both were known for their battle prowess, though Regulus was the one to work on the battlefield with the soldiers whereas Gillian preferred to plan battles. Gillian took on his mother’s shade of hair, Regulus’ was a black colour, attributed either side of their families genetics. Both had the darker skin colour of their father and grey eyes._

_A year after the twins, was the next daughter, 309AC_

_Princess Lupae Stark was named for the ancient luci word for she-wolf, but despite the fearsome name, she was told to be a very gentle child, going on to be a healer at the Maiden’s Hearth Castle. She would become the one to bring modern medical practises into the Seven Kingdoms. Many proclaim her the Mother of Medicine, and unlike her siblings, her hair was of a blonde shade, which caused much stir, believe her to be a child born of infidelity. However, her paternal grandfather, according to her father, had blonde hair. She was blue eyes and gained many freckles over the years._

_Another two years after Lupae, was the next and last son, in 311AC_

_Prince Rickard Stark was named after his great grandfather. He was credited to be a skilled hunter and travelled many lands for most of his adult life. It was said that on his journey to the west with his Aunt, Princess Arya, they had found Eos, the birth place of his father. Unlike the rest of his siblings, he did not marry or have children, devoting his life to exploring and recording the world. Rickard the exact image of his father._

_It would be three years until the last child would arrive in 214AC_

_Mollis Stark was told to have been a difficult birth, one that Cor had missed, as he was settling a skirmish on the border of the Riverlands and the Vale. He had returned moments after his daughter came into the world, where Sansa had struggled for two days with contractions, that she had to have many midwives summoned from Maiden’s Hearth to help with the delivery. And then the labour took to seventeen hours before the last daughter would enter the world._

_Mollis took after her father in every way, but would come to be a skilled politician as she was with the blade. She would inherit the blade, Chiyo, and would become one of the two chosen counsellors for the Crownland democracy. She was born with the brown hair of her father, but eyes and pale skin of her mother._

Queen Sansa swiftly brought the North into an Age of Enlightenment, with the law that all children should be educated from the ages of five to sixteen. The Maiden’s Hearth, formerly The Dreadfort, was turned into a place of education. With the unequal views of the time, women weren’t allowed to be taught at the Citadel, to which Queen Sansa decided to make a sisterhood of healers and midwives, their teachings on par and sometimes even more advanced than the Maesters. With their knowledge closer to what modern medicine is, they were the forefront of healing in Westeros.

The castle was open for both genders, though predominately it was females that studied there. And before small school houses were created in villages for more localised education, most of the children of the North spent time boarding at the Maiden’s Hearth, being taught education that they would never have the status to receive before Queen Sansa’s law. Education allowed for new jobs to be created, as well as more employed citizens of the North.

The Maiden’s Hearth was also a sanctuary for orphaned children, and people escaping abusive situations. Many women and sometimes men found safety behind the castle walls, and helped start what is now know as therapy for many. Still to this day is the castle a haven for the abused.

Commander Cor Leonis had a few titles in his life time; Dragonslayer, The Immortal, and the Ghost Commander, but in the written journal of his, he wrote that his preferred title was Queen Consort. Many ballads were sung of the love and loyalty the Commander had held for Queen Sansa, as well as written accounts by many nobles of the time of their relationship. Allegedly, a minor lord had put forth his marriage proposal, declaring him of better status for the queen, to which the Commander had demanded that all who wished for her hand in marriage would have to fight and beat him.

No one had managed.

The Commander would go on to introduce chemical warfare and new strategies for battle. The alleged Battle of the Night King, had only been the start of his skills as a leader and fighter, always putting himself on the front line with his troops. Many praised him for his loyalty to his soldiers and a lot of the commanding teachings are still inspired and taught by the Northern army.

When he took command at the age of fifteen, the Commander, upon seeing how small the numbers were for the Northern army, opened it up for anyone of gender or station. He personally trained the female guards of the Queen Sansa that had named themselves, The She-wolves. A name that is still used for the guards of today’s Northern monarchy. Though, the She-wolves were used mainly for female royalty, being both their guards and maids.

Prostitution was at an all time low during Queen Sansa’s reign as both with her opening Maiden’s Hearth for everyone, the Commander had opened up the Northern army for them as well. There was even the opportunity for sex workers to learn of to fight without joining the army.

Though her reign was one of much peace, there was the uprising from the Riverlands, commoners angered by the ineffective ability of their King, Edmure Tully, and how the land that was ravaged during the War of the Five Kings was still infertile. With the rebellions swiftly moving through the Riverlands and invading the Vale, Queen Sansa was called for help by her uncle and cousin, King Robyn Arryn. The Queen, who at the time was heavily pregnant, had sent Cor Leonis in her stead.

Through out his command most upstarts and dissent was easily quailed by just him showing up on the battlefield, armies instantly retreating with his singular form. And the same happened for the Riverland’s Uprising, putting down the opposition and helping the King Edmure to implement a better support for the food shortage until Queen Sansa could come and revive the lands.

Of the titles that Queen Sansa held, the one of much debate was ‘ _The Herald of Spring’_. Many historians believe that the tradition of the Northern monarch adding blood to the weirwood tree at the beginning of spring stemmed from her.

Maesters of the Citadel had many accounts of how the Long Night, a winter predicted to last years, only lasted three days in the year of 302AC. By the Queen’s journal and the Commander’s, it was supposed that she used ancient magics of the Stark bloodline to disperse the storm so that it wasn’t so centralised on the North.

The Stark magic is a closely held secret for the family, with only the basic knowledge of warging and the Monarch’s connection to the land. Because of the royal blood, given to the Old Gods as an offering, the land prospered every year and continues to do so even now.

The Death of Queen Sansa and the Commander

In the year of 380AC, at the age of 95 and 96, the husband and wife passed in their sleep together surrounded by their children and grand-children. The first Queen of Winter was said to have grown sicker with age, her energy depleted and slow. Bedridden for days before finally passing, her husband was said to be of good health even on his death bed.

A quote from their daughter Suha wrote on their passing:

_Father always said that as mother’s Shield, he would die the day she did, no matter how healthly he may have seemed. That was the Oath taken by the Shield, that their life was their Monarch’s, and what is a Shield without their monarch to protect._

_I’m glad that he was both mother’s Shield and husband, because I knew that father would not have lasted long after her death even without the Oath. His devotion to her was plain to see for everyone, they never hid their love, even when many were against it because of how father was never a lord or noble knight._

Notable quotes from Queen Sansa’s Journal:

“ _Pain is just pain. And pain hurts. And it will dig it’s roots deep into our very bones and we will feel like there is no escape_.” -on the topic of the abuse she experienced and the grief of the loss of her family.

“ _Why must I go through pain to prove myself to others that I am worthy? Can I not be strong and worthy without it?_ ” -her contemplative monologue about how many believe that people have to hurt to be strong.

“ _A woman’s sacrifice is always forgotten in the face of a man’s glory.”_ -on the topic of Suha, and the sacrifice she had made for Bran the Builder’s glory.

“ _My body is the battleground upon which my childhood had died._ ” -of the beatings she was subjected to during her hostage at King’s Landing.

“ _You were the one to give me the name. It’s not my fault you were wrong._ ” -about the nicknames ‘little bird’ and ‘little dove’ that was given to her by Sandor Clegane and Queen Cersei during her captivity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have reached the end my friends. Thank you all for being on this journey with me and all the many comments that have encouraged me and kept me continuing on with this story. With out you guys, I don’t know if I would’ve completed it.
> 
> I hope that this last chapter wasn’t disappointing, as it was something i had planned since the beginning. The view of her reign and her impact was something that I wanted for Sansa. For her to be remembered.
> 
> I will fill in a lot of missing scenes and their lives after this story in a bunch of oneshots and side stories. For those who are curious, we will see Eos and their side of the story with Cor missing and Gil finding Ardyn. But for now, this fic is finished. I may go back to edit it, but i dunno. 
> 
> For anyone interest, I have a playlist of songs that i feel work with the pairing even outside of this story, which is right here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/32M79mhHDSyURHdAGBaLaU?si=z7U12QnUSVehG53NGnj9XA
> 
> And for the songs that i felt pertained to this story from the playlist:  
> Die for you: Starset  
> Just a Dream: Kurt Hugo Schneider version  
> King and Lionheart: Of monsters and men  
> As the world falls down: David Bowie  
> You look nothing like my dreams: Front porch step  
> Salvation: Gabrielle Aplin  
> A thousand years: Christina Perri (Though I personally feel this song is more Suha to Sansa)  
> Carry your throne: Jon Bellion  
> Follow you: Bring me the horizon  
> Dive to deep: Red jump-suit apparatus  
> Kingdom fall: Claire Wyndham
> 
> Once again, Thank you so much everyone! until next time

**Author's Note:**

> alright, i have no idea how to write either of them but fuck it. 
> 
> Cor’s dilemma is inspired by cosmogony (findingkairos) series we were faster on our feet. It’s a cool crossover of FFXV/HP, check it out.
> 
> I’ve never played FFXV, so in this world, Regis is already King and Mors has died. Timeline whomst? And this follows book age for Sansa, so currently she is 14, coming up to 15 soon.


End file.
